The Mentalist: The Red Planet
by Donnamour1969
Summary: Now complete. With a case that divides the sexes in the good old CBI, Jane and Lisbon make a bet that has them questioning everything they thought they knew about sexual stereoptypes. Set late Season 5, but with no Red John, no angst; only humor, romance and the age-old battle of the sexes. Rated T/M for adult language and sexuality. Jisbon/Rigspelt.
1. Battle of the Sexists

A/N: Well, I'm off work for the summer and enjoying my free time. Okay, so I'm bored, and for me boredom breeds…fanfiction! Call me crazy, but here is my third working fic right now!

This one is much lighter than the others, almost silly in places, and I will not apologize for that or any possible OOC moments. So, proceed at your own risk. I admit to stealing the seed of an idea from an episode of "Moonlighting," but it is only a small seed—the rest is totally mine. There will be Jisbon, by the way, and some Rigspelt too. I hope you enjoy this light, summer fare.

**The Red Planet**

**Chapter 1: The Battle of the Sexists**

If Lisbon had a dollar for every time she had to nudge Jane awake on his couch, she'd have been able to retire to somewhere tropical by now, but no, it was part of _her_ job to make sure their consultant was doing his.

"Jane, we got a case."

"Hmm?" said he, turning over to present his sleep mussed hair and stubbled cheeks.

"You heard me. Get up."

He sat up instantly, eyes bright as if he hadn't been sleeping at all. Sometimes she wondered.

"What is it?"

"A man found murdered in his car on state property."

They began to walk toward the elevator, and Lisbon filled him in, so by the time they reached the company SUV in the parking lot, he knew the whole sad story. Cho and Rigsby were already aboard, and they drove just a few blocks to the River Park.

It was a picture Jane could have painted in his sleep—coroner's van, SacPD vehicles, CSU—against the backdrop of the golden Tower Bridge.

_Just like countless other cases in ten years of cases_, Jane thought. _Would it be insensitive to yawn?_

The CBI team gathered around the late model sedan, an unassuming beige. The man was in his late forties, and he sat hunched over the steering wheel, the bullet having lodged in the poor sap's skull. Someone had apparently shot him through the open window at close range.

"Looks like a hit," said Cho.

"You mean gang related?" asked Rigsby. "He looks too old to be a banger."

"Nah," said Jane, focusing on the beige man in his beige suit and beige car. "This was a family matter."

"How do you know that?" asked Lisbon.

Jane picked up the dead man's left hand; a scratched gold wedding band adorned the traditional finger. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and used it to hold took a cell phone from the console, pressing a button that displayed family photos. Wife much too pretty for this guy. Perfect looking son and daughter, likely college age.

"See?" Jane said, showing the others. "What are some reasons why a forty-something family man would be shot in the head?"

"Didn't leave the toilet seat down?" suggestion Rigsby. Nobody laughed, and he shifted uncomfortably. Well, Jane grinned.

"Business deal gone bad?" suggested Cho.

Jane shrugged. "Maybe. Look at this car though. It must be ten years old. He doesn't look like someone high enough in his business to be making the big deals."

"Robbery?" asked Lisbon.

"You would think—but here's his wallet," and Jane reached back inside the car to hold it up gingerly by a corner. He opened the bi-fold. "Still contains credit cards and two crisp twenties."

Lisbon took it from him into her latex-gloved hands. "Jerry Morrison," Lisbon read. "He's…forty-two. Lives here in Sacramento."

"Before your next guess, I guarantee there will be no drugs on him or in his system," said Jane.

"Can we quit the guessing games," said Lisbon in annoyance. "What do you think happened here?"

Jane squatted down by the driver's side of the car, so that his line of sight would be the same as Mr. Morrison's had been.

"He was watching someone. I'll bet it was his wife."

"She was meeting someone," said Cho, who nodded toward a bench before the river, clearly a lovely setting for an evening tryst.

"They must have realized they'd been caught, and decided to get rid of the husband," added Rigsby.

"You are a very devious thinker, Rigsby," teased Jane. "Well done."

Rigsby blushed a little, and Jane grinned.

"A SacPD patrolman went by here on a sweep at around one o'clock last night," said Lisbon. "The car wasn't here, so it must have happened between then and when a woman walking her dog called it in an hour ago."

"Hmmm," said Jane in satisfaction.

"Okay," said Lisbon on a sigh, depositing the cell phone and wallet in an evidence bag. "Let's go find the wife."

"Bring your handcuffs," advised Jane.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Three hours later, Mrs. Rita Morrison had been brought in for questioning, and was sitting in the interrogation room, Cho and his notebook before her. Jane, Lisbon, Rigsby, and Van Pelt watched from the other side of the one-way window. It was a very crowded observation room, but Rita Morrison was so entertaining to watch, Lisbon didn't have the heart to clear them out.

For one thing, she was so over-the-top melodramatic that there was no doubt she was hiding something. For another, her double-D's were barely restrained by her low-cut red dress, which surprisingly did not clash with her cinnamon colored hair.

"Where were you last night between one a.m. and seven this morning?" asked Cho.

Rita grabbed a second handful of Kleenex and blew her nose. "Poor Jerry! He didn't deserve to die that way."

Cho patiently repeated his question.

"I was at home alone. In bed. Waiting for Jerry, just like I said already. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but I think he was having an affair."

"With whom?"

"That floozy from down the road, Billie Sue Dixon."

"You have any proof of that."

"I don't need any. A woman knows these things."

"That must have made you very angry with him, eh?"

"Well, yes."

"So you tracked him down and shot him by the river?"

"No! I loved Jerry!"

"Were _you_ having an affair?"

"God, no! I loved my husband, like I said. He was a great provider. He took a second job to put both our kids through college. Oh, God, how am I going to tell them their daddy is dead?"

"We questioned your neighbors, ma'am. A uh"—he looked down at his notebook—"Billie Sue Dixon, said she frequently saw a car in the driveway whenever your husband was gone. She said it belongs to…Zack Ezzell."

"That lying bitch! She's trying to set me up! I bet _she_ did it. Jerry wouldn't leave me, so she shot him. Poor Jerry!" And the tears flowed freely once more.

"Holy crap," muttered Rigsby from the other side of the window.

Jane grinned in glee. "She's wonderful," he said in admiration. He always loved a great con artist. "Clearly a sociopath though."

"How do you figure that?" asked Lisbon.

"Well, obviously she's lying through her bleached white teeth. She was sleeping with this Zack person and one of them offed poor Jerry."

"Where'd you get that bruise under your eye," Cho was asking.

"I ran into a door."

"Was the door named Jerry, or maybe Zack?"

"No! Of course not!"

"Who hit you, Rita?"

"Like I said, I ran into a door."

Cho looked up at the window with a pained expression on his face.

"Maybe you killed Jerry yourself because he beat you."

"No! Where are you getting these crazy ideas?"

Rita dropped her Kleenex, and when she bent to pick it up, Rigsby craned his neck so he could get a better view. He received a slap on the arm from Van Pelt. Jane chuckled, enjoying himself immensely. Perhaps this case wasn't so boring after all.

"She so killed him," commented Rigsby. "Poor guy. Probably didn't even see it coming with a wife like that."

"Poor guy?" said Van Pelt. "He was cheating on her and obviously beat her."

"No reason to kill the man."

"You're kidding, right?"

Jane grinned and watched the fireworks.

"Hush," said Lisbon, "or you two are out of here."

Cho was still talking. "Wonder what Zack will say when we bring him in."

"That Billie Sue is a liar, just like I said."

"Last chance to change your story, Mrs. Morrison. We have Zack in lock up right now."

"You do?" She looked genuinely frightened.

"Yeah," said Cho, snapping shut his notebook. "Just like I said."

"She did it," said Jane matter-of-factly.

"Why don't you wait till we interview Zack Ezzell before you make that decision?" said Lisbon. "Rita might be afraid of him. He might have been the one beating her, forcing her to do things she didn't want to do."

Jane shrugged. "Bring him in."

"Take Mrs. Morrison to Interrogation Room 2," Lisbon directed Rigsby.

"I'll do it," said Van Pelt.

"Whoever. Just get her out of there and bring in Mr. Ezzell."

"Yes, Boss," they both said at once, both deciding to take care of Mrs. Morrison.

When they were gone, Cho turned and looked at the window. "She did it," he announced.

Lisbon flipped the speaker. "Let's wait for Mr. Ezzell."

"See," said Jane. He sounded like a proud papa.

"Geeze, did you guys miss that part in interrogation school? You know, hearing all the evidence before drawing a conclusion."

"Well, the only school I went to, Lisbon, was the school of life. This is just natural instinct at work here, and I know a man trap when I see one. Look, the woman didn't even admit to having the affair with Ezzel. And if she's lying about that…"

"You can be a liar and not a murderer," said Lisbon.

"Or you can be both. What is it about this woman, who seems to be a fraud in every way, right down to her fake hair and teeth, that makes you believe in her innocence?"

"Women's intuition," she said with a sarcastic smirk. Jane rolled his eyes.

While they waited for Zack Ezzell, the pair wandered out to find their favored hot beverages in the break room. While Lisbon stirred cream into her coffee, Jane dunked his tea bag.

"Rita is a very attractive woman," said Lisbon conversationally. "Normally you men would jump to her defense on that basis alone."

"You _men_?" He gave her a chastening _tsk_. "How very sexist of you, Lisbon."

"You're saying that just because she is built like a brick house she must be this evil seductress? That tells me a lot more about you than about her."

"Oh?" he inquired, one eyebrow raised.

Jane dropped his tea bag into the trash as he followed Lisbon back to the observation room.

"Most men are intimidated by women who are confident in their sexuality."

"It's self-preservation, my dear. They don't call women like Rita, bombshells for nothing. When they explode, there's lots of collateral damage."

Lisbon laughed. "Well, you would think that kind of danger would keep men away from women like that. But in my experience, it's quite the contrary. They're like moths to flames."

Jane grinned. "You're not making your case for Rita then. With that kind of _sexual confidence,_ she could very easily have manipulated Zack Ezzell into doing anything she wanted him to, like say, killing her husband for her."

"Well, now you've made _my_ case. You're basing your accusations purely on the woman's sexuality. I'm sure it's all tied up in your mind with your own past experience with women like that. Women who manipulated you with certain…behaviors."

Jane paused, teacup halfway to his lips. "Aww," he said knowingly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, you've gone personal on me all of a sudden, Lisbon. If you've got something to say, just say it."

"I don't think I _need_ to say it. You know exactly what I'm talking about, and you're letting what other women have done to you personally influence how you see women in general."

She wasn't about to name names, but they flashed through her mind anyway: Sophie Miller. Erica Flynn. Lorelei Martins. He'd lied for and even broken the law for all of them. No way he could tell her it had nothing to do with their sexuality.

He was saved from a reply with the return of Cho from his bathroom break, and Rigsby and Van Pelt with Zack Ezzell in tow. They escorted the suspect into the interrogation room, pushing him gently down into Rita's vacated seat. Van Pelt and Rigsby joined Jane and Lisbon once more, but there was a distinct chill in the air between the once and again lovers. Jane and Lisbon weren't the only ones engaged in a battle of the sexes.

Once again, Cho began doing what he did best.

"Mr. Ezzell, were you having an affair with Rita Morrison?"

"Yes."

"Bingo," said Jane to his fellow observers. Lisbon gave him a sidelong look of annoyance.

"What did you think of her husband, Jerry?"

"He was a cruel bastard. He beat up on Rita all the time." The man was obviously still angry about it, right down to the set jaw and clenched fists.

"So you killed him. I can understand how a man could be driven to violence when the woman he loves is abused."

"No way, man. As much as he deserved it, I'm no murderer," Ezzell said.

"Sounds like you had a pretty good reason to though. If not you, then who?"

"What did Rita say?" he asked, ignoring Cho's question.

"She didn't even acknowledge your affair. Blamed all of this on some woman named Billie Sue."

The man snorted. "Bull shit. Billie Sue wouldn't know one end of a gun from the other. She's dumber than a box of rocks."

"You sleep with her too?" asked Cho.

He blushed. "What of it?"

"Just curious. So how did Morrison find out about your thing with Rita?"

"He followed Rita to the river. He saw us meeting there."

"He must have been very angry. Then what happened."

"I told Rita I was tired of sneakin' around, so I walked up to his car. Rita didn't want me to."

"Was she afraid of what you might do?"

"No, of what Jerry might do."

"Then what?"

"She really denied our affair?" said Ezzell, as if the news had just registered.

"Yeah."

"Well, I'll tell you exactly what happened. Rita pulled a gun from her purse, told Jerry she didn't love him anymore, that she was through being his punchin' bag, then shot the bastard in the head."

"Why would you rat her out now?"

"Man, I begged her to leave the guy, that I'd take care of her, protect her. Now she's denying what we had, leaving me twisting in the wind? I'm starting to think Rita was playing some sick game with me and her husband."

"Could be," said Cho. "Where's the gun?"

"Ask Rita. It was hers."

"He's lying," said Van Pelt in the adjoining room.

"I agree," said Lisbon.

"You're kidding me," said Rigsby.

"Well, obviously she was lying to protect him. If there was no affair, there could be no clear suspect," concluded Van Pelt.

"Hmm," said Jane.

"What does that mean?" asked Lisbon.

"No disrespect, but you women are jumping to conclusions based on some very romantic and illogical notions."

The women in question turned to look angrily upon the consultant, hands on hips.

"This has nothing to do with our sex, Jane," said Lisbon tightly.

"It certainly has nothing to do with the evidence," Jane replied.

"What evidence? It's his word against hers. We need to find that weapon, and we need to test them for who fired a gun. Van Pelt, put them both under arrest for suspicion of murder."

"Both of them, Boss?" said Rigsby. "CSU only found evidence of one bullet near the crime scene. One shooter."

"Well, until the lawyers work it out, we're keeping them. We've got up to forty-eight hours before the AG decides to charge them; we'll use all the time we can."

"This is all circumstantial, to use cop speak," added Jane. "It's not going to hold water, especially when they lawyer up. You should let Ezzell go."

"This is one of those gut feeling, natural instinct things you were talking about, Jane. And my gut feeling is he did it, so I'm not letting either of them go. Now, Rigsby, you and Cho get out there and get me some more evidence one way or another," Lisbon ordered. "All I really want is the truth."

Lisbon left the small room then, and Rigsby, Cho, and Van Pelt moved into action. Jane followed Lisbon back to her office, where he got comfortable on her couch with his tea and Lisbon took her usual place behind her desk.

"You realize this is very out of character for you. Weird to see you acting on instinct rather than hard evidence."

"Maybe I've learned more from you than I thought."

"Hmm…well, let's make this more interesting, then, shall we?" He said.

"I'm not betting on someone's innocence or guilt, if that's what you're suggesting."

"It is, but it doesn't have to be for money, if that's what's offending your moralistic sensibilities."

She sat back in her chair, regarding him warily. "I think I've also learned after all these years that it's stupid to make a bet with you."

"So you're saying you really don't have much faith in your instincts as a woman?"

"That's not—"

"Then put your money—or whatever—where your gender is, Lisbon."

He sat with his arm spread across the back of the couch, legs casually crossed, looking as full of confidence (or something else) as he always did when he was convinced he was right.

"I can't believe you want to make this whole thing about sex," she said.

"Not _sex,_ Lisbon. Sex_ism_." He grinned. "There's a difference, you know."

Lisbon blushed. "You know what I meant, and I'm _not_ a sexist. But I'll bite-if not money, then, what?"

He set down his teacup on the side table and sat forward on the couch, looking at her intently. She felt distinctly uncomfortable, but willed herself not to fidget.

"If you are wrong about Lovely Rita," he began after a few moments, "I think your blatant defense of her based solely on her femininity has set back the women's movement about fifty years. So, if you lose this bet, I want you to dress and behave like a woman from fifty years ago."

"What?"

"You heard me. I think you watch that sixties advertising show, don't you? Well, I want you to be like the women on that show. Dresses or skirts every day, high heels, carefully coifed hair—the whole bit."

She rose to her feet, her tone coldly sarcastic.

"And I suppose you want me to bring you your drinks and meals and kowtow to your every desire…?"

"Well, I hadn't thought you'd go that far, but okay." And he grinned.

She stared at him, in utter disbelief at his temerity. "You are seriously deranged if you think I'm about to fulfill some Neanderthal male fantasy of yours…"

"Not Neanderthal, Lisbon, mid-twentieth century."

"Ha! Almost the same damn thing."

He shrugged, then played his trump card: "Chicken."

"I am not! What you're suggesting is completely ridiculous, not to mention impractical, given my totally modern job description. How do you suggest I run and tackle a perp wearing high heels and a skirt?"

He had to admit, the mental image was surprisingly…tantalizing. _Now where had that thought come from? _ He hastily shook his head to clear it.

"I would concede to your having a change of clothes and shoes should you go out in the field, but other than that, for say…a month, you'd play the sixties office girl to the hilt."

"A month? No way. A week, at most."

"Two," he countered. When she hesitated, he said, "Not as confident in Rita's innocence as you claim, are you?"

"Fine," she conceded. "Two weeks. But I get to set my terms for the very real possibility that you will be wrong here."

"Aw, Lisbon," he said with annoying condescension, "how often am I wrong about these things?"

"More often than you care to remember, I'm sure. But you're definitely wrong in this case. So…now what to do with you?"

Jane sat back against the cushions again, thoroughly enjoying the expressions flit across her pretty face as she thought of his punishment. She tapped her bottom lip in a gesture oddly similar to one of his, and he had the distinct feeling she was mocking him. He grinned, but let her have her fun.

"You need some more time to think—?"

"No, no…I got it." She looked at him now, dimples on full display. "You want to make this about gender, well, I think it's high time you start acting more like the chauvinist pig you clearly are, rather than hiding behind your three-piece suits and your herbal teas."

He raised an eyebrow. "Are you questioning my masculinity?"

She blushed anew. "No, not at all. But you're so free in spouting your archaic male attitudes, that I think you should practice what you preach."

He continued to sit in his place, patiently waiting for the other shoe to drop, his heart oddly picking up speed in anticipation of what she would come up with.

"Go on," he encouraged.

Lisbon came slowly from around her desk stopping when she stood before him on the couch. He hoped she felt powerful, looking down on him like that. It made him smile even wider.

"First," she began thoughtfully, "you should go to the shooting range, shoot some manly weapons to get that testosterone coursing through your veins. Then, you should do some sports. Rigsby and Cho have a weekly game of pick-up basketball—I think you should go and play with them. Or, better yet, play some tackle football. Oh, and you should definitely go to a strip club and drink a lot of beer, maybe slip some singles into a g-string or two. And while you're at it, wear jeans and a t-shirt outside the office, the scruffier the better. Maybe play some violent video games. And one more thing: no tea. Only coffee and sugary sodas for two weeks. But don't worry; I'll be there cheering you on just to make sure you're really completing these tasks. You think you can manage that, Mr. Caveman?"

"What makes you think I don't do all those things already, Lisbon?"

That brought her up short. She really didn't know all that he did outside the office. She knew that home was a run-down, extended stay motel, and that he only went there when he had to, to shower and change clothes. Sometimes he would disappear from the office for a day or two and never tell her where he was. God only knew what he did then, but she always assumed he was doing something that had to do with his own private Red John investigation. Maybe she'd been wrong.

Then she laughed, shaking her head. "Nah, I don't think so. You're more of a cerebral guy, which is totally the point of this. You want to talk in stereotypes, well it works both ways, buddy."

"Well, I must say, Lisbon, those are very intriguing stakes. I admit however, that I think I would have the easiest time of it—in the unlikelihood that I lost, that is. But I'll take this bet."

He stood as well, and held out his hand to seal the deal. Lisbon's eyes gleaming with humor, she spit into her own hand and waited for him to do the same. He only hesitated a moment before mimicking her action and grasping her wet, sticky palm with his. It was more amusing than disgusting, and when Jane reached into his pocket and pulled out a white monogrammed handkerchief to wipe his hand, Lisbon laughed aloud.

"You are so gonna lose, Nancy Boy," she said, wiping her own hand on her jeans.

"We'll see about that, Butch."

They went back to their seats and their cooling beverages, enjoying their momentary complacency while dreaming of their triumph.

**A/N: Too much? Please log in and let me know what you think. **

**Until my next chapter of this story, I'd love for you to check out my other two collaborative efforts: "Boy Wonder" with starry19 and "Red Roulette" with waterbaby134. A little something for everyone…**


	2. Martians

A/N: Thanks so much for the wonderful response to my first chapter! I'm dreadfully behind as usual in responding to your reviews, but I will try to catch up soon. Your kind words continue to inspire me to write.

The plot in the chapter (such as it is) thickens a bit, but beware the absurdities ahead. The word count is a little lower than usual, but that's because there's lots of dialogue and not as much exposition—hope you don't mind

**Chapter 2: Martians**

"No way she did it," said Van Pelt the next day, after murder charges had been filed against Rita Morrison.

"That's not what Ardilles thinks," sang out Rigsby. He was about to give Cho a high-five, but when he saw his lover's face, he wisely resisted.

"Tests showed she fired a gun recently," said Cho.

"Yeah, but so did Zack Ezzell," countered Van Pelt. "It's really his word against hers."

"And don't forget Billie Sue Dixon's," piped up Jane from his couch in the bullpen. He was looking down intently at his cell phone, satisfied that he'd figured out (on his own) how to text Lisbon a picture he'd found on the internet.

"She's covering for him, obviously. They had been lovers too, right? And she and Rita didn't get along, so she set her up, saying she'd been worried about Jerry and followed him to the park that night. I don't believe her for a minute."

"So, not every woman is innocent by virtue of her sex," suggested Jane.

"No, of course not. You men were the ones making this case about sex."

"Everything's about sex," said Cho.

Everyone turned to look at him, shocked he would have such an opinion. He shrugged. "It's true."

"Right you are, Kimball," said Jane. "And you can always depend on women playing the sex card when things aren't going their way."

"Hear, hear," agreed Rigsby.

"That's a very sexist thing to say," said Van Pelt with a sniff.

Just then, Lisbon practically marched into the bullpen, and went right up to Jane, shoving her cell phone into his face. "Not gonna happen, Jane."

"Is that a picture of Joan from _Mad Men?" _asked Van Pelt, who'd gotten a brief glimpse of the photo Lisbon was flashing.

"The redhead?" asked Rigsby. "Oh my God, that woman has the most incredible—"

The women turned on him with angry glares. "—acting skills," he finished lamely.

Cho's lips quirked, but he said nothing. Let Rigsby dig his way out of that one.

"No Joan?" said Jane, clearly disappointed. He flipped through more photos on his phone and then held up another picture. "How about Peggy? She's not nearly as well, _voluptuous_ as Joan, but I like the girl's style. You could work with that, couldn't you, Lisbon?"

"This case isn't over yet," Lisbon said through clenched teeth.

"Not until the skirted lady sings?" quipped Jane with a grin.

"No one said _anything_ about singing," she said, eyes narrowing dangerously.

The rest of the team were looking back and forth between their boss and the consultant, all of them wondering what the hell was going on with them.

"Never you mind," Lisbon warned their audience.

Then she turned to Van Pelt. "Come with me, Grace. I need your help with something."

"Sure, Boss," replied the junior agent curiously. In a rare display of immaturity, Van Pelt stuck out her tongue at Rigsby on her way out of the bullpen. Jane chuckled.

"Where are they going?" asked Rigsby, supremely annoyed to have Van Pelt mad at him. That didn't bode well for their evening activities.

"They're going to keep working the case without us," said Cho.

"Why? Seems pretty open and shut to me," replied Rigsby. He hated being relegated to staying in the office while Van Pelt was out in the field with the boss.

"You really don't know much about women," stated Cho.

"No arguments there," said Rigsby, his eyes going longingly to the bullpen door.

"Above anything," Jane explained, "they hate losing, especially to men."

"You should read _Men are From Mars, Women are from Venus_," suggested Cho.

Rigsby laughed. Of course he'd heard of the book years ago, but it always sounded like pop psychology clap trap to him. "Don't tell me you've read it, Cho?"

"I have."

"Me too," said Jane. "It's actually a pretty accurate thesis on how men and women are from two different worlds."

"Well, Mars seems like a lot cooler place to be from than Venus," said Rigbsy petulantly. "I mean, Mars was named after the god of war, right? It's also more capable of sustaining life than Venus. Why would anyone want to be from a hot, gassy little planet?"

Cho shook his head. _Some guys would just never get it._

"That," said Jane, in a very Yoda-esque tone, "is why you fail…"

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"First thing we do is go back to Billie Sue Dixon's house," said Lisbon in the SUV. Van Pelt rode shotgun, feeling very much like Mom loved her best at the moment.

"I can't believe those guys," muttered Van Pelt. "They are so stubborn."

"Yeah, well so are we," said Lisbon. "We are women—"  
"Hear us roar," concluded Van Pelt.

They both grinned. Sisterhood was a powerful motivator, especially when it was against a mutual enemy—sexism.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"She recanted," announced Lisbon to the bullpen two hours later. "Billie Dixon recanted."

Jane set down his newspaper. "Really?" he said, genuinely surprised.

"You didn't even bother interviewing her, Jane, or you would have seen it yourself. I'm no mentalist, and it only took a couple of questions to break her down."

"Ardilles is the one who got her statement about witnessing the murder," added Cho. No way _he_ would have missed her lying either.

"Well, now they've got both Rita _and _Zack back in custody," said Lisbon, trying to contain her glee. "Better dig out your old jeans from the bottom of the drawer, Jane."

"You guys made some sort of a bet, didn't you?" said Van Pelt. "Well, whatever it is, I'm in."

"Are you sure?" asked Jane, eyes lighting up.

"Well, tell me what the bet is then," she said.

"Jane—" Lisbon warned.

"That's okay, Lisbon. The more the merrier."

"Can Cho and I be in too?" asked Rigsby.

Lisbon laughed. "I'm afraid it would be no real hardship for you and Cho if you lost."

Jane explained the wager, and by the time he finished, the entire team was laughing. Well, except Lisbon.

"So, you see, boys, you'd actually have fun if you lost. No deal," said Lisbon.

"They could go the other way," suggested Van Pelt. "They would only drink _tea_, and wear their suits, even at home. They could take us to the symphony or better yet, the ballet, or God forbid, read a classic novel."

"Cho wouldn't mind any of that," said Jane. "Either way, he'd be fine. He's what you might call a Renaissance man, our Cho."

"I never said I was in, anyway," said Cho. "Count me out."

"Well, Wayne?" said Van Pelt. "You scared of a little culture?"

"No, but then no way I'm losing this one." They shook hands on the deal, and Jane grinned from his place on the couch. Lisbon rolled her eyes, excusing herself to return to her office.

"I can't wait to watch you walk around the office in a tight little dress all day, fetching my coffee," Rigsby whispered to Van Pelt.

"Well, you'd better line up those ballet tickets," she replied mockingly, "_Swan Lake_ is coming to the Forum."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

A while later, Jane wandered in through Lisbon's open office door. She was on the phone, chasing down some lead, apparently, so he sat in the chair before her desk, waiting patiently for her to end her call.

"That was the medical examiner," Lisbon said. "Interesting thing about Jerry Morrison…seems he fired a gun that night too."

"Huh," said Jane noncommittally.

"Another interesting thing—Ardilles sure made his arrest quickly. He didn't even wait for all the examiner's reports. Now he's had to shuffle around his suspects. I bet he's pretty pissed off about that. It sure doesn't make him look good."

"It certainly doesn't," said Jane, pokerfaced.

Lisbon leaned forward against her desk, staring into Jane's seemingly guileless eyes.

"What did you do, Jane?"

"Now why would you think I did anything, Lisbon?"

"Ha, don't give me that." Then a horrifying thought occurred to her. "You talked to Ardilles didn't you? You somehow got him to arrest Rita."

"I don't know where you get these crazy i—"

"What do you have on Ardilles, Jane?"

"Nothing."

"Okay, what does he _think_ you have on him?"

"I've often heard that in situations like these, I have the right to remain silent."

Lisbon's hands slid into her hair and she closed her eyes, groaning as if she were in intense pain. Which, in a way, she was.

"I can't believe you would jeopardize a murder investigation just so you could win a childish bet."

"Well, the truth is," he admitted reluctantly, "they're both guilty."

"How do you figure that?"

"They made a pact, Lisbon. They both held the gun to Jerry's head, they both pulled the trigger together, so neither of them could rat the other out."

"Well, how do you explain the fact that Morrison shot a gun too?"  
"The best I can figure, they thought after the fact of making it appear to be a suicide, so they put the gun in his cold, dead hand and shot the thing out the window."

"Then why didn't they leave the gun in his hand to complete the ruse?"

Jane chuckled. "Maybe they saw someone coming—Billie Sue?—they panicked, and stupid Rita accidentally took it with her."

"And why couldn't it have been stupid _Zack_?"

"Back to that, are we? It's always about sex with you," he mocked.

She ignored his wisecrack. "There's no proof of any of this, and Billie Sue recanted. And without a murder weapon…"

"Ardilles will sort it out. I bet he has the state police dragging the river right now."

"Yeah, that's what I heard. And thanks for sharing all your insight with me, first," she said sarcastically.

"We were in a competitive situation, Lisbon. I couldn't divulge information that might give you false hope."

"Gee, thanks for that. But damned if you couldn't get Ardilles to arrest Rita first. Your plan kind of backfired, though didn't it?"

"Actually, no. When I figured out what really happened, I thought this plan would buy me some time—enough time for me to get at least a couple days of you in a skirt. I underestimated how long it would take for the evidence to catch up with my steel trap mind." He tapped his temple for emphasis.

"You're a pig."

"Now, Lisbon, calling me a name like that is far beneath you, and certainly a sign of a poor loser."

"How about jerk? Idiot? Jackass? I could go on and on…"

He grinned. "I suppose _pig_ is acceptable."

They were quiet a moment, regarding one another with amusement and resignation, respectively.

"So I guess this nullifies our bet," Lisbon ventured hopefully.

"Why do you say that? You were clearly wrong in your conjecture. Rita shot him."

"Well, for one thing, if what you say is ever proven, we were both wrong. Zack did it too, by your own admission."

"So, we were both wrong. Or we were both right. Either way, we should both meet the terms of the wager, if only to be fair."

"You've got to be kidding me. On what planet does that even make sense?"

"It would make sense on Mars," Jane replied, a secretive smile lighting his eyes.

"Yeah, well, that's the only place. This is Earth, by the way, since you obviously need reminding."

"So, we start tomorrow? Do you need to take off early to buy a new dress?"

"No."

"Well, I for one am looking forward to it." He stood up, suddenly dying for a cup of tea.

"Hey, wait," Lisbon said. He stopped at the door and turned back to her. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What's that, Lisbon?"

"Why, your end of the bargain. I think it should start tonight. Shooting range after work?"

Jane grinned. "It will be my pleasure."

"But more mine, I'm sure," Lisbon said, looking forward to the pitiful spectacle that would be Jane with a gun.

He winked at her, and went off in search of tea, his happy whistle echoing in the hall.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"You old hustler," exclaimed Lisbon, as the target stopped on its return track right in front of them. Every one of Jane's shots had hit either the heart or the head of the mock perp target.

"Where the hell did you learn to shoot like that?" she asked him. He took off his goggles and ear protection, setting Lisbon's Glock down carefully on the counter.

"Carnival shooting gallery," he said simply.

"So, all these years your gun-shy reactions were just an act?"

He shrugged. "I know my way around guns, doesn't mean I have to like them."

He did save her life with one once upon a time. She should have known. It was obvious he'd had some practice and training somewhere along the way, however, with real weapons.

She shook her head at him. "Then why'd you let me stand behind you at first and show you how to shoot?"

"Far be it from me to turn down the help of a beautiful lady."

She blushed.

"Pig," she muttered, for the second time that day.

Jane smiled. "You did well too, Lisbon," he commented, admiring her own target. "The fact that they are all head shots indicates you have some rather deep-seated resentment toward intelligent men."

"You don't know the half of it."

"You want to go again? I feel the testosterone coursing through my veins like never before."

She took her Glock and re-holstered it, then removed her own protective wear.

"No," she said. "I'm tired. It's been a long day." If he didn't know her better, he'd say she was pouting.

"Don't be a sore loser, Lisbon. I could give you a few pointers—"

"Go to hell, Jane."

He followed her out of the CBI shooting range and out into the cool evening air. He escorted her to her Mustang, wishing her a fond farewell and again expressing his anticipation for her next day's ensemble.

"Remember, it's all in the attitude too, you know."

"Yeah, remember that tomorrow night, when you're out on the basketball court."

For the first time, he looked genuinely concerned. "Are you playing?"

"Nope. It's all boys. But I'll be cheering you on from the sidelines."

She opened her car door and slid inside, and Jane pushed her door gently closed. She rolled down her window and he leaned down, his face closer to hers than she was expecting. Patrick Jane's broad smile up close was dazzling, even in the half-light of early evening.

"You and Van Pelt should coordinate your wardrobes," he suggested. It's going to be an exciting day at the CBI tomorrow."

"Don't forget your gym shorts and sneakers," she said with a grin of her own. She started the Mustang and drove away, satisfied that she, for once, had gotten in the last word.

**A/N: Okay, I know there might be holes in the case you can drive a truck through, but I hope you'll forgive those in the interest of the silliness and romance to come. Yes, the romance will be amped up soon.**

**Thanks for reading. Reviews are always welcome and much appreciated!**


	3. Venusians

A/N: Hello! I'm going to do what I hate doing, and that is give you a blanket thanks for all your wonderful reviews. My problem is, I don't have high-speed internet right now so it takes me forever to respond to reviews because it takes so long for the pages to load. I hope you'll forgive me, and know that I value all those great reviews very much. Let my reward to you be that I will try to have more chapters more often.

So, without further ado, on with more fluffy fun…

**Chapter 3**

The next morning, Lisbon stood in front of her closet, feeling decidedly at a loss. She had a couple of skirt suits, which she wore for the occasional big-wig agency meeting or court date, but there was little of the sixties vibe about them. She had a few dresses too, but they were either too formal for work or they had too much of a church feel, for that is where she wore them when she actually went to mass. She had been so confident she would win this bet, that she hadn't given much thought to what she would do should she lose.

She slid the hangers across the rack once more, hoping the closet fairies would suddenly fill her wardrobe with sixties chic. She'd about resigned herself to forfeiting the bet and the disappointment of not seeing Jane in gym shorts, when she happened upon a black sheath dress that had been hiding at the far end of the rack. It still had the tags on it. It had been one of those impulse purchases that she'd meant to return, but never had, for she realized later she'd likely never have a place to wear it.

She pulled it out and laid it on her bed, then, inspiration striking, she grabbed her smart phone and did a quick search. Picture in hand, she stood in the bathroom and examined her long dark hair and clean-scrubbed face critically, looking back at the picture.

"Hmmm," she mused to her reflection. "I think I just might be able to make this work. Not exactly Peggy Olson, but certainly good enough to fulfill Jane's requirements for the bet…"

A half-hour later, she'd slipped on the dress, and added her mother's short strand of pearls at her neck. A black belt cinched her small waist, pleasingly emphasizing the curve of her hips. Simple black pumps finished the look. It was the hair and makeup that was most different, she knew. She smiled in the full-length mirror on the back of her bedroom door. She felt feminine and pretty, but there was a mysterious air about her that she hadn't expected to see. She was suddenly excited to know what Jane would think.

_He won't know what hit him._

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Lisbon met Van Pelt in the parking lot, and they looked at each other and grinned. Van Pelt certainly had more of a Joan look anyway, and she'd decided to work that to the hilt. She wore a black pencil skirt and a tight pink sweater, with her own black pumps and her red hair in an understated bun. She really looked the part, and Lisbon nodded approvingly.

"Oh, my God," exclaimed Van Pelt, admiring Lisbon's outfit, "you look just like her! All you need is a long cigarette holder."

"Well, you'll certainly cause a stir, just like Joan," said Lisbon, trying not to be intimidated by her subordinate's ample bosom as they walked into the building.

Van Pelt blushed. "I feel like we're going to a costume party," she said wryly.

Despite the endless training in sexual harassment sensitivity, the two women garnered more than their fair share of low whistles, winks, and whispered suggestive conversations. Lisbon knew she and Van Pelt looked sexy, but she hated to be the center of attention—she'd always be a band geek at heart-and she wished she'd grabbed some big sunglasses to make her costume complete.

"I can understand why women stopped wearing such things to the workplace. Way too distracting," murmured Van Pelt as they stood in line at Security.

They both smiled shyly at the leering men, grateful they hadn't met any of their team yet, but then, the extra attention they'd paid to their appearance had made them a few minutes late. It was rather surreal, having to hand over purses to be checked since they didn't have a place for a holster or their badges, and it occurred to them how few women would have been in law enforcement from the era they represented. If Jane's intention was that they feel shame in setting back the woman's movement fifty years, their attire seemed to have done just the opposite; they felt proud of the women who had come before them, who had been brave enough to break away from societal norms to pave the way for their positions now.

Still, their hearts pounded nervously and they said little on the elevator ride up.

"Shall we make an entrance together?" asked Van Pelt.

Lisbon sighed as the elevator dinged its announcement of the SCU floor. "Sure. May as well get it over with so we can all get on with our day."

Everyone was already in the bullpen as the women took deep breaths and walked in together.

"Good morning," said Lisbon brightly, her usual daily greeting.

"Good—" began Rigsby, but then his eyes lit on Van Pelt. "Holy…" And then he was at a loss for words.

Even Cho's eyes widened, and both women couldn't help preening a little beneath the men's admiring gazes.

From his place on the couch, morning tea in hand, Jane took in the view like a man appreciating a fine painting. He set down his cup and stood to walk over for a closer look.

"Well, well," he said, all smiles. "Joan herself has arrived. You look absolutely lovely, Grace."

"Thanks, Jane," she said, and moved to set her purse down on her desk.

Then he turned to Lisbon. He unabashedly eyed her from head to toe and back again, his eyes sparkling at her transformation. "It would seem the ghost of Audrey Hepburn is visiting us today." He twirled his finger around in the air to suggest she turn so he could see all sides.

"Not on your life," she refused, flushing furiously.

Instead, she suffered the further embarrassment as Jane walked completely around her, nodding in satisfaction while her pulse rate increased exponentially.

"Enchanting," he said, facing her again. She met his eyes, and the only time she'd ever remembered him looking at her that way was when he'd caught her trying on a bridesmaid's dress once upon a time. That time, she'd been annoyed. This time, however, she felt an unusual wave of heat coursing through her body. His eyes darkened at what he must have seen in hers.

"Though it's not quite Peggy Olson, I uh, trust this satisfies the requirements of our wager," she said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady, but one hand nervously smoothed down her dress.

He nodded. "Beyond expectations," he said softly.

Everyone else in the room sensed the change in the air, a new tension they'd never felt before between Jane and Lisbon, but it was gone so quickly, later they each wondered if they'd imagined it.

"Well, good," said Lisbon. She dragged her gaze from Jane's and looked at the rest of her team. "I'll be in my office."

Jane watched her walk away, the gentle sway of her sweetly emphasized hips making him feel rather off balance. He caught himself and smiled at the three in the room who still looked at him speculatively. He shrugged and went back to his tea. At his desk, Cho smiled, but just a little.

"Oh," said Grace, reaching into her purse. "Rigsby, I brought you something."

Rigsby, blatantly ogling Van Pelt's breasts as she rummaged through her bag, walked closer for a better view.

"Did you now?" he asked suggestively.

Van Pelt rolled her eyes, then held out two books. "Here is your reading material for the next two weeks. I'll quiz you at the end to make sure you read them, and not just the _Cliff's Notes_ versions."

Rigsby was still looking salaciously at her figure when he felt her pressing the volumes insistently into his hands. He looked down at them. One was _Immortal Poems,_ the other, _Wuthering Heights_.

"You've got to be kidding me," he said.

"Not at all. And I want you to memorize one of the poems and be ready to recite it two weeks from today."

"What?"

"You going back on the deal?" she accused.

"No, not at all. Just…not looking forward to it."

Van Pelt smiled. "I'm sure."

Rigsby glanced back at Cho, and a sudden mischievous expression settled on his face. He looked down at Van Pelt who had sat down and begun sorting through her mail.

"Hey, toots, what say you get me a cup of coffee?"

Cho closed his eyes and shook his head, cringing inside at his friend's horrible miscalculation. Van Pelt's face contorted into an angry scowl, and she pointed her letter opener meaningfully at a highly sensitive part of Rigsby's anatomy. She looked up at him coldly.

"If you ever call me _toots _again, you'll have to consider a change of religion. Get your own damn coffee."

Rigsby gulped, and Jane hid his smile behind his teacup. Rigbsy backed away from Van Pelt slowly, then took his new books back to his own desk.

"Damn women's libbers," he muttered.

For Jane's part, he still felt a little flummoxed at his reaction to Lisbon. She was still Lisbon, of course, just in a different shell. And it wasn't like he hadn't seen her in a dress before—he had, on several occasions. So what was different about now? For one thing, he'd had a purely masculine reaction to her, whereas when he'd beheld her in past dressy incarnations, he'd been more amused than…captivated. She'd made no bones in the past about how much she hated dresses and skirts, while fidgeting with a scratchy neckline, complaining how high heels were torture devices invented by men. Whenever he thought of Lisbon in a dress, he'd had the indelible image of her as Scout Finch on her first day of school.

What had made Lisbon different from most tomboys, however, is usually they grow out of that stage and eventually come to embrace makeup and frilly things. By virtue of her occupation, Lisbon still had permission to run around in jeans with the boys and play with guns (though they were no longer of the cap gun variety), so, in effect, she'd never had to set aside her tomboy ways. Well, until now.

Jane sat against the back of the couch, tea forgotten, trying desperately to understand what had changed. He thought of her again in her sophisticated costume, how her dark hair was swept smoothly to the side and pulled up into a slight bouffant. Her green eyes appeared smoky and sensual and rather catlike, and her hips—it almost pained him to think of the way they swayed within that clinging dress, which was further emphasized as she walked away from him in those black heels. He shifted uncomfortably in his place. These were _Lisbon's_ hips he was contemplating, _Lisbon's_ creamy, toned calves flexing with each stride. It was almost blasphemous!

And then it hit him—_he'd_ reacted differently because _Lisbon_ had felt different about herself. Yes, that was it entirely. He had seen her as a sexual being because she had felt like one in that dress. Now that he thought about it, she had purposefully moved those hips in an enticing manner, had looked at him beneath sensual, sooty lashes on purpose. He was used to her blushes (relished seeing them, actually), but this time it was sexual awareness that had heated her cheeks, and he, a man, had been so taken off guard that no amount of biofeedback could have prevented him from responding to that.

Little Lisbon had grown up at last.

He grinned to himself and rose to his feet, heading purposefully toward Lisbon's office. He felt compelled to further analyze his conclusions, and the only way to do that was to confront the subject face to face.

She was just settling in with her coffee, had flipped on her computer, and was sorting through her mail when Jane came in without knocking.

"I must say, Lisbon, you really took to the spirit of the wager."

She looked up at him (through those long, long lashes that he'd always taken for granted) and sure enough, the spark he'd felt earlier was still there. _Hmmm._

"Well, it was by necessity, actually. That's the only thing in my wardrobe that even remotely resembled something a sixties woman would wear. I'll have to go shopping during my lunch hour unless I'm going to be Audrey Hepburn for two weeks."

"That wouldn't be so bad," he said, his eyes almost caressing her face. Lisbon stiffened. _Why the hell was he acting like this?_

He made himself comfortable in the chair across from her desk.

"I don't know why I never saw her in you before," he continued. "Not that you look exactly like her, but you have some of the same features. Gamine face, alabaster complexion, dark hair, expressive eyes."

She blinked her expressive eyes in surprise at the personal comments. He rarely made those, at least about her appearance, though he once called her a princess.

"Uh…thank you?" she said, because she couldn't think of anything else.

"And may I say, I've reconsidered characterizing you as Peggy Olson. In retrospect, she is much too dowdy, too lackluster a model for the type of woman you would have been in the sixties."

Now what could she say to that? Instead, she changed the subject.

"Oh, I just got word they found the gun in the river, registered to Jerry Morrison. You were right—there were two shots fired. Still waiting for ballistics to get confirmation it was the same gun that killed him."

"Hmm," said Jane, amused at her sudden change in topic.

"So, I need to start writing my final report."

"Aw, you're giving me the boot. Well, my attic is calling anyway. Still lots of my own project to do up there."

He rose to leave.

"By the way, Rigsby says their pick-up game is after work down in the gym."

Jane's smile faltered. "Don't worry, Lisbon, I'll be there."

"I know you will," she said with a grin.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane knew the game of basketball inside and out. He could cite every rule and regulation off the top of his head, knew every team, both college and pro, and he used to be able to name all the top players-you had to know this stuff when you were betting on the outcome. But he found out very quickly that knowing was much different than playing.

It wasn't as if he had never played before. He used to play all the time, that summer when he was ten. And so he found himself in the CBI men's locker room at 5:15, at the age of forty-three, changing into basketball shorts that hit him at the knee and sneakers he hadn't worn in ten years. As he pulled on his plain blue t-shirt, he listened to the locker room talk with mounting trepidation. Although it was pick- up basketball, these guys were serious about the game, and Jane had watched a time or two, so he knew how rough things got without a referee, without adhering to many of the rules, and when a player was guarding someone twice their height.

As for Jane, he had never felt so out of place in his life, and he could sense the odd looks he was receiving. Everyone knew who he was, of course. His shenanigans within the Serious Crimes Unit were the stuff of legend, but that wasn't necessarily a selling point for him as a prospective ball player, not when his notoriety came from being a habitual rule-breaker and a cheat. It wasn't that they didn't like him necessarily—it was hard to hate someone who oozed charm through his pores—they simply didn't trust him because they'd heard too many stories of what happened to those who'd gotten in his way. And also, most of them thought he was kind of weird, and maybe a bit on the prissy side.

"Nervous?" asked Rigsby as they made their way out onto the court.

"Yep," he said honestly, and the taller man slapped him on the back.

"I'll look out for you."

Jane grinned at the man's inherent kindness. "Thanks."

Relief flooded him when Lisbon wasn't in the stands. He didn't mind so much being embarrassed in front of the guys—his greatest fear was Lisbon seeing him fail. There would be no hiding behind intellect or intuition in this situation, and he knew he would feel naked without his usual crutches.

When the two captains stepped up to begin picking their teams, it was like every nightmare Jane had ever had about public education. Everyone feared the humiliation of being picked last, so when Cho, captain of one team, picked him first, he seriously considered kissing the man.

"Do what I tell you and you might survive this," Cho muttered, while the other captain picked Rigsby first.

And so it went, until all ten of them were picked, with a good mix of tall and short, young and old, physically fit and well, Jane.

After the tip off, Jane tried to stay on the wiry young rookie from Vice he was supposed to be guarding, but it soon became evident that Jane would never be able to keep up with him. After ten minutes of hard play, he was drenched in sweat, but had managed to pass the ball a few times successfully, and stayed mostly out of the way of the experienced players.

Jane was momentarily distracted by the arrival of Lisbon and Van Pelt, still in their sexy sixties outfits, just in time to miss catching the ball. It bounced painfully off his chest and went out of bounds. He doubled over, winded.

"Didn't see that one coming, did you Mr. Psychic?" said the kid from Vice he was guarding.

His teammates grumbled, but when Jane looked up and nodded his head breathlessly toward the women in the bleachers, play stopped abruptly.

"I saw Van Pelt at Security this morning," said Scott from Narcotics. "She's lookin' hot today. Man, that woman has sex written all over her."

"Didn't you used to tap that, Rigsby?" asked Vice.

Rigsby, who was being much more discreet this time around, felt his jaw tighten under the strain of secrecy. "Yeah," he ground out.

"My God, Agent Lisbon is a woman after all," laughed the tall guy from Firearms.

Jane felt his own body grow rigid, his hands clenching into fists at the insult to his wonderful, beautiful, saintly Lisbon.

"I always thought she played for the other team, if you know what I mean," spouted Vice.

Jane felt himself move to strike, but Rigsby had sensed his intentions and held him back, so Cho beat him to it.

"Hey," said Cho coldly, standing nose to nose with Vice. "Watch your mouth."

The thinner man held up his hands defensively. "Whoa, sorry, man. I was just kidding. Sheesh. You SCU guys are so sensitive."

He backed away, knowing full well Cho could back up any threats, implied or otherwise.

In the stands, Van Pelt called: "Hey! I thought you guys were playing basketball not brawling like school boys on the playground!"

The rest of the players laughed, defusing some of the tension, but Jane still shook with fury. He should have been the one to defend Lisbon's honor. He didn't know why it was his job in particular, but he couldn't help feeling like it should have been. He looked up at Lisbon who was grinning at him, unaware that he had almost used physical violence on her behalf. He returned her wave, but his eyes went back to Vice.

"He's not worth it," said Rigsby softly. "Believe me, I'd dearly love to punch him in the mouth."

Rigsby let him go, and Jane vowed revenge against the big-mouthed kid. He'd picked the wrong person to mess with on that score. It wasn't long before the opportunity presented itself.

The game continued, Jane guarding Vice again, but he found it very difficult to concentrate, his adrenaline pumping with his anger and with the added stress of feeling Lisbon's eyes following his every move. When Vice got the ball, Jane was on him much more aggressively than before, purposefully fouling him, knowing full well no one would take the time to call it in the ref-free game. No blood, no foul—that' where that expression came from. And there'd been no bloodshed, at least, not yet.

The second time Jane bumped Vice, the man stumbled, landing hard on his ass. He was already riled up from his earlier confrontation with Cho, and was feeling ganged up on by having three SCU agents in the game. So, when Jane reached down a sporting hand to help him up, he'd obviously had enough. On his feet once more, Vice caught the ball, arms up in preparation to shoot a basket. But then he turned suddenly, Jane having been close at his back, and one pointy elbow slammed purposefully into Jane's left eye.

"Holy shit!" Jane cursed, seeing stars. He squeezed his eye shut against the searing pain, then, acting fully on instinct, he swung his fist and hit the guy squarely in the jaw. Vice dropped like a rock.

In the stands, Lisbon and Van Pelt had been enjoying the rough play, the sounds of gym shoes squeaking on the floor, the grunts and huffs of male exertion, the occasion foul word echoing in the gym. It was sexy to see men sweat and to hear the sounds that reminded them of other physical exertions. Both women had grown up playing sports, and they had even joined a game or two here on occasion. They were mainly cheering for Cho's team, but if Rigsby made a basket for the other side, they cheered him too.

But mostly, Lisbon watched Jane. He was acquitting himself much better than she'd expected. He was slower than the other men, never even attempted a point, but he was obviously giving it his all, and for that she felt an unexpected sense of pride in him.

She felt oddly like she was watching her boyfriend the night of the big game, and the feeling was a little unsettling. She cringed every time there was a near-miss, and she pictured him falling and slamming his head onto the hard floor. But as with his movements off the court, he was smooth and graceful, and seeing his hair and shirt dark with perspiration was also incredibly sexy. When he picked up the hem of his shirt to wipe his brow, she caught a glimpse of flat, glistening stomach and her mouth went dry.

After the little tussle when they'd first arrived, the atmosphere on the court seemed to change. She watched in annoyance as Jane gave a few intentional fouls to Jesse from Vice. When Jane got elbowed in the eye, Lisbon and Van Pelt rose to their feet as one. Lisbon gasped, the air hissing loudly through her teeth.

But he didn't fall. He did, however, punch poor Jesse, who fell to the floor in a heap.

"Jane!" she cried.

She was so angry she could spit, and nearly fell down the steps in her high heels in her rush to get down to them. She slipped off her shoes and ran barefoot to Jessie, who was out cold on the floor. Van Pelt was right behind her.

The other players had realized they had a man down, and Cho squatted down beside him, slapping Jesse gently to try to revive him. When he began to come around, Lisbon turned to Jane. Rigsby was peering down into Jane's injured eye as he held his head back.

"Boy, are you gonna have one hell of a shiner. Let's go get you some ice from the locker room."

"Damn," said Jane. "It hurts like hell."

He realized then his fist hurt too, and he shook it out with a grimace. He and Rigsby had begun walking slowly toward the locker room when Lisbon caught up with them.

"Jane, for crying out loud! What's the big idea hitting someone when they accidentally foul you? That's the most unsportsmanlike thing I've ever-"

"Hey, Lisbon," he interrupted cheerily, his hand over his bad eye. "Thanks for coming. Nice evening for a manly game of basketball, eh?"

"It was no accident," said Rigsby.

"I saw the whole damn thing. It could have happened to anyone."

"But Boss-" Rigsby began, but Jane caught his eye with his one good one and slightly shook his head. Rigsby looked surprised Jane didn't want to rat that asshole out, but his respect for him increased tenfold because of it. They'd reached the locker room, Lisbon still making comparisons of men to apes, and commenting on the inability of some people to play well with others.

"Look, Lisbon, would you mind haranguing me later; I'd really like to get some ice on this and take a massive dose of pain killers. And, at the risk of sounding sexist, you can't go in here with me."

She followed him into the men's locker room anyway. Rigsby's eyebrows shot up, but there was no way he was going to correct his boss. Jane found his way to a bench and sat down, his head pounding, and Rigsby went off to fetch the ice. He picked up a clean towel stacked on the bench and mopped his brow and neck.

"I'm too old to be playing with children," he commented, and instantly Lisbon's anger faded. She was the one who had suggested this in the first place, and she felt suddenly guilty for his pain.

"Here," she said gently. "Let me see."

He resisted at first, but she reached gently for his cheek to turn his face toward hers. She leaned in close to him, her fingers cool against his aching cheekbone.

"Can you open your eye?"

He complied, but barely, and he let out a small groan of pain. His eye was bloodshot and already showing signs of bruising around the entire area.

"You should probably have a doctor take a look at that."

Jane felt intoxicated by her unfamiliar closeness, by the rich scent of vanilla that clung to her skin.

"I'll be all right. I think I have a bag of frozen peas in my mini fridge in my motel room."

"Well, you were injured at the CBI. We need to get you checked for liability purposes."

He instinctively attempted to roll his eyes, but had to stop and groan at the effort.

"I'll drive you."

By that time, Rigsby had returned with an ice pack, and Jane took it gratefully. He'd heard Lisbon's offer.

"I'll take him, Boss."

"Yeah, Rigsby'll do it. You go home and plan your wardrobe for tomorrow."

"And I believe it's the strip club for you tomorrow night, right? If you feel up to it, that is."

"I'll definitely come along for that ride," Rigsby said with a grin, then flushed when he remembered his female boss would be joining them.

"Okay, Rigsby, but you get him to an emergency room, no matter how much he resists. Cuff him if you have to. That's an order."

"Yes, ma'am."

Lisbon stood, strangely reluctant to leave him.

"I can't believe you socked that guy," she said, shaking her head in disappointment.

"And here we go again," Jane said wryly. "I'm pretty sure this conversation isn't good for my eye. I'll see you tomorrow, Lisbon—well, maybe with only half my depth perception."

She smiled in spite of herself.

The other men, apparently having called it quits for the evening, began trickling into the locker room, surprised to see a woman in no-man's land.

Lisbon sighed. "'Night guys."

Lisbon almost literally ran into Cho on her way out.

"Jane okay?" he asked, stepping back from her personal space.

"Yeah. Rigsby's taking him to the emergency room in case there's some damage to his eye, the idiot."

"I'm glad he punched Jesse. I was tempted to do it myself."

"Why?" she asked in surprise. It took a lot to make Cho mad.

Cho succinctly told her what had transpired on the court, and Lisbon felt her emotions go from outrage to gratitude to another feeling she was unwilling to define.

"He was defending me?" she managed to ask.

"Yeah."

She looked back toward the locker room entryway, tempted to go back in there and—what? Thank him? Hug him? She didn't know if he would welcome any of that. He obviously hadn't wanted Rigsby to tell him the truth.

"That idiot," she said again, but this time her tone held admiration along with more of that other indefinable emotion.

**A/N: I really hope you had as much fun with this chapter as I did writing it. Despite my reviewing problems, I would still love to hear your thoughts. I appreciate every single one and it really does motivate me. Thank you!**


	4. Poles Apart

A/N: Again, I want to thank you for the inspiring reviews as well as apologize that I haven't been able to reply. I read every one, and appreciate your lovely and encouraging words.

Remember at the beginning of this fic, when I warned you things may get silly? Well, here's the reason behind that, so prepare yourself. It will make it easier on all of us if you just relax and enjoy the ride…

**Chapter 4: Poles Apart**

The next morning, Lisbon found Jane fast asleep on his bullpen couch, a piratical eye patch on his injured eye. She could see the bruising just beneath it, and she shuddered a little just thinking of how much it must have hurt. And he'd gotten it for her.

She adjusted the blanket around him, then, heart racing a bit, she gently kissed his brow like she would have when one of her brothers was sick. It was obvious he was on pain medication, so unusually soundly did he sleep, even snoring softly in a way that made her smile.

_Poor Jane._

Part of her also had looked forward to his reaction to her outfit this morning, so she was disappointed that he slept. It was a vintage skirt set she had found at a shop downtown on her lunch hour the day before. It was a light gray plaid and she wore it with a light pink blouse that tied at the neck, beige pumps on her feet. She'd set her hair on hot rollers that morning, pulling the sides back to clip high on the back of her head. She felt pretty and feminine—a feeling she certainly wasn't used to having on the job.

Other women had commented on how cute she looked both this day and the day before, and the men had smiled in appreciation. She'd tried not to dwell on what Jesse had said yesterday, about how some men had wondered about her sexuality. It shouldn't have bothered her so much, because she didn't feel exactly insulted by it, but she certainly didn't want to be sending eligible men the wrong message. Not that there was any particular man she wanted to attract. Okay, not one that didn't already know her sexual proclivities. Didn't he? Could that be a reason why he never-?

She laughed to herself. No, of course that couldn't be why he'd never acted on the love he'd proclaimed to have for her last year. That was ridiculous. It was because he still loved his wife, of course. Right? He'd known she'd been engaged before to a _man_, and she was pretty sure he knew about her one-night-stand with Walter Mashburn. Also, it was no real secret that she did go on the occasional date with a _man_, though it was never serious, and rarely turned into a second date. No, it had to be Jane himself that was standing in the way of what could be. Well, and he must have sensed her own hesitance, even though she loved him with all her heart.

She shook her head at her wayward musings, then tucked the blanket around Jane a little more tightly. People who judged her on her appearance should be ashamed of themselves, she thought. This was a government workplace, after all, and there was no room for overt sexual displays. But as she walked back to her office, feeling the gentle bounce of her curls on her back, she wondered if there wasn't some happy medium somewhere.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane sat up a few hours later, disoriented. The entire left side of his face hurt like a son-of-a-bitch, and his mouth was as fuzzy as his brain from the pain pills.

"You okay?" asked Van Pelt from her nearby desk.

"Yeah. I would kill for some tea though."

She smiled at him, having heard the whole story of his gallantry on the basketball court from Rigsby.

"And I'd be happy to get it for you. Don't get up—you look like a half-drunken pirate."

Jane attempted a grin, but it pulled at the skin beneath his eye and turned it into more of a flinch. He watched Van Pelt leave in her sixties sailor-themed dress, and turned his head toward where the men would normally be. They were gone, so he assumed they must be out on a case.

Lisbon had been watching through the glass walls of her office and happened to see Jane sitting up. She adjusted the bow at her neck and went out into the bullpen.

"Hey, sleepyhead," she said brightly. "How are you feeling?"

"About as good as I look," he grumbled, but his good eye lit up a little at her attire. "You, however, look adorable," he said.

She blushed, and to his great delight, she actually turned a quick little circle to show herself off. _Aw,_ he thought, _someone's a little more confident today._

"Lovely," he said.

"Thank you." She stepped closer to the couch, and to his immense surprise, she reached out and gingerly touched his sore cheek. "Can I get you anything?"

He swallowed, resisting the temptation to lean his burning face into her cool hand.

"Van Pelt is off for my tea, but I might need someone to drive me to get something to eat in a bit; I'm on some pretty heavy barbiturates. Boy, did those pills give me some crazy dreams. I actually dreamed you tucked me in and kissed my forehead," he said.

Lisbon flushed to her hairline and dropped her hand. "Wow," she said, "you _must_ be on drugs."

"Hm," he replied, with a small, knowing smile.

Her brow suddenly furrowed with concern. "Hey, we can call off tonight's payback if you like."

"No way. I never renege on a bet."

Her eyebrows shot up at that whopper, but in deference to his drug-addled brain, she let it slide for once.

"Okay, then. Maybe you should catch a ride from Rigsby."

"I might have to."

Van Pelt returned with his steaming tea, and Jane looked up at her gratefully.

"You, my dear, are a saint."

She smiled. "I hope I made it right." She set the blue cup and saucer in his hands.

He took a tentative sip of the hot beverage, then nodded his appreciation.

"Perfect. I'd make a witty remark about sailors and pirates, but right now, I got nothin'."

Van Pelt laughed. "That's okay."

"I'd say thank God for small favors," remarked Lisbon. "Let me know when you want to go to lunch, Jane. With Rigsby and Cho out, and Van Pelt having to man the phones, it will have to be me taking you."

"I have no objections to that," he drawled, looking up at her with one, slightly dazed green eye. "Where are the guys, anyway? I feel decidedly outnumbered."

"Rigsby took an early lunch to secure tickets to the ballet tomorrow night," said Van Pelt with a rather evil grin, "and I don't know what's up with Cho."

"He took some personal time," said Lisbon.

"Should we be worried?" asked Jane wryly.

"He's probably tired of the battle of the sexes around here lately," said Van Pelt.

"It's not so much a battle, as a skirmish, I think," said Jane. "Or maybe just a tiff."

"Oh, it's war, buddy," said Lisbon. "Don't ever doubt it for a minute."

Jane sipped his tea and watched Lisbon's gentle sashay back to her office.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane popped another pain pill before they entered the loud gentleman's club, charmingly called The Fox Hole. Rigsby had picked him up in front of his motel, grinning at Jane's much less formal attire-well-worn blue jeans, gray t-shirt, and Nikes, straight from the back of his closet. A lightweight blue jacket completed the casual ensemble, and Jane felt decidedly uncomfortable appearing with coworkers this way. He mainly only wore jeans around the motel, or if he had to run to the grocery store or laundromat. Lisbon knew well what would make him feel most uncomfortable, so kudos to her, he supposed.

The music was pumping out some hip-hop diddy from hell, and Jane's eye and head instantly throbbed in time. He followed Rigsby into the darkened club, his view of the stage blocked by the much taller man. Then Rigsby stopped at a table toward the front, and Jane beheld some of The Fox Hole's finest performers. The stage held four dance poles, and four dancing darlings, all in thongs and some with tasseled pasties, undulated and did daring acrobatic moves designed to show their best assets. Jane averted his eyes at the women dancing with their breasts bare.

Rigsby was grooving with the music, absorbing the preshow. They sat down and RIgsby leaned toward Jane with a gleeful smile. The guy was actually enjoying this already, Jane saw in disgust.

"This is the classiest joint like this in Sacramento," he said loudly, to be heard over the nearby speakers.

Jane's grin was strained. "That's a little scary," he said.

A waitress in short shorts and a halter that tied beneath her double-D's stopped at their table to take their drink orders. When she got closer, they saw that she wore what were meant to be fox ears nestled in her bleached hair, and a fluffy, red, fake fox tail emerged from the back of her shorts. Jane's eye scanned the room to see that every waitress was in the same getup, poor exploited girls.

"Welcome to The Fox Hole. I'm Marissa," she said, "What can I get for you handsome gentlemen?"

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask for tea, but one warning look from Rigsby and he ordered a Doppelbock. Rigsby rolled his eyes.

"He'll have a Bud Light, along with me. No, make that a pitcher; we're expecting two more."

"Sure thing, sweety," she said. Her bright blue eyes raked over the two men, apparently liking what she saw. Rigsby gave her his best smile.

"Domestic beer?" said Jane. "Seriously?"

"What's Lisbon gonna say when she sees you drinking that snooty imported stuff?"

"The agreement was beer," said Jane, "she didn't specify a particular brand."

"Well, I saved you more ribbing, so you can thank me later."

"Not when my mouth tastes like the dregs of a backyard still," he mumbled so Rigsby wouldn't hear him.

He watched the dancers dispassionately, wondering what had led them to lower themselves in such a manner.

"That girl on the far left," he began to Rigsby.

"Yes, oh my God! I love it when women have dimples on their lower back like that."

"Well, judging by the shape of her navel, Dimples there has at least two kids at home, probably from two different fathers. That tattoo on her thigh is fake. See, the eye of the tiger is actually right over the cigarette burn daddy number two gave her this morning when breakfast was undercooked."

Rigsby's smiled faded. "You're really taking all the fun out of this."

"Wait'll I get started on bachelorette number two…"

"Please, don't."

Jane sat back in his chair and grinned. Now he was starting to enjoy this. He looked around, watching the reactions of the other patrons, most of them men, of course, and many there for phase one of a bachelor party. He wondered where Lisbon was. Maybe she wouldn't show up and he could go home, claiming he'd made the requisite showing and had gone home with a migraine.

Their beer arrived and the waitress poured them their first glass, standing purposefully close to Jane, her breast brushing suggestively against his shoulder. She smiled, and her foxtail bounced enticingly behind her when she walked away.

Jane took a drink of his beer and grimaced. It reminded him too much of his poor carnie days. Lisbon and Van Pelt soon arrived and sat down beside them, grinning from ear-to-ear at Jane's obvious discomfort.

"Hey," she said near his ear, inadvertently giving him a slight chill. "Nice outfit. Why don't you stand up and let me see it from all angles." She rotated her finger for emphasis, and Jane had to smile.

"Sure, why not?"

He stood, holding out his arms and turning slowly in a tight circle. His raised arms allowed both Lisbon and Van Pelt a good look at his very sexy, denim-encased ass, and they nodded to him in genuine approval. Van Pelt even clapped, as did a couple of waitresses who'd had their eyes on Jane since he walked in the club.

He bowed and smiled shyly, pretending it didn't make his eye throb, then sank gratefully back into his chair.

"Where's that fetching suit you were wearing earlier?" he asked, noting in minor disappointment the return of her jeans and button-up blouse.

"Oh, I'm off the clock. Even sixties girls slipped on their peddle-pushers after work."

"Van Pelt still has her outfit on."

They both glanced over to the other side of the table, where Grace and Rigsby were pointing out different women in the room and laughing together. Lisbon's eyes narrowed, and she looked pointedly away. She didn't want to know.

"How's the eye?"

"It feels like someone is stabbing it with a hot poker, but other than that…thanks for asking."

He took a sip of beer.

"Sorry," she said. She was about to thank him for the reason he'd gotten himself injured, but this wasn't exactly the time or place. Also, it was a little surreal speaking to him while four half-naked women undulated on poles in front of them.

"You like any of these ladies," she teased. "Pretty damn sexy, don't you think?"

She smirked, for it was obvious he'd rather be about anywhere else in the world at the moment.

"Oh, they're all right, if you're not a big fan of the feminine mystique."

"Now that's not the attitude of a hot-blooded male," she said dryly. "Loosen up and enjoy the scenery. That's the point of all this, remember?"

His eye roamed over her pretty face, almost as familiar to him as his own. "I happen to think the most attractive location for dimples is on a woman's _face_," he said seriously. Her hair still hung in curls, and he reached out, allowing one to coil around his finger a moment. Then he sat back, picked up his beer, and took another sip, his good eye still on hers as he drank.

She looked at him in confusion, but blushed at the heated way he was looking at _her_ rather than the strippers onstage. How many men besides Patrick Jane could be in a strip club and ignore the stage. Lisbon took a hearty drink of her own beer to help calm her sudden nervousness. But their momentary spell was broken by the drastic lowering of the music and a white spotlight shining brightly on the stage. A brawny man in a beautiful suit emerged from behind the red curtains, a microphone gripped in his hand.

"Gentleman, and you ladies out there," he began, nodding at Lisbon and Van Pelt, "I'm pleased to formally welcome you to The Fox Hole. I hope you're enjoying yourselves so far."

There was a cacophony of calls, claps and whistles, and the MC smiled widely.

"Well, if you've had fun with Sugar, Amber, Honey, and Ginger"-each of the girls on the poles did a last sensual move, then bowed and made their exits amidst enthusiastic applause—"you're gonna love the main attraction." The music rose slightly, and the opening riff of Jimmy Hendrix's "Foxy Lady" filled their ears.

"Whooo!" called Rigsby.

"There's something we have to face, gentleman," continued the MC. "This is no longer a man's world. Times have changed, and women aren't just housewives or school teachers. Some are even…doctors!"

From behind the curtain stepped a woman in a white lab coat, a stethoscope around her neck, black stilettos on her feet. She had a serious expression on her face as she walked to the end of the runway that jutted out into the crowd.

"But even doctors have to let their hair down at the end of a long, hard day."

She pulled her lab coat open and revealed a luscious physique beneath in an emergency red string bikini. The men roared their approval. She danced around a bit, shaking her ass and squatting near the edge of the stage to allow the patrons to slip bills into her g-string. Slowly, her skimpy top disappeared, and she continued to dance a while longer, collecting tips, completely topless.

Suddenly a wad of ones appeared in Jane's hand.

"Go on," said Lisbon. "Part of the deal, remember?"

Jane looked from the stack of singles to Lisbon. "Must I?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes sparkling. Like a man condemned, Jane stood and walked to the stage, waving the cash so the good doctor would look his way.

He found an empty space on her g-string and slipped the entire stack against her damp, glittery skin. She looked down at the gorgeous, one-eyed blond and smiled her thanks. He returned his best grin, thankful the pills must have kicked in and it didn't hurt so badly just to smile. She stumbled a bit on her stilettos in awe of his beauty.

Lisbon shook her head. Not even strippers were immune to the man's charm.

"Thank you Dr. Love," called the MC when she'd finished her performance. She made her way to one of the empty poles.

Lisbon leaned close to speak to Van Pelt. "And here _I _was accused of setting back the women's movement. It's like time has been frozen in here."

Van Pelt laughed wryly.

"You know, gentlemen," continued their host, "you will even find women are the bosses in the world of business…"

Out came another woman, this one in a tight skirt, white collared shirt, hair in a bun, with horn-rimmed glasses resting on her creamy cheeks. She even held a briefcase. The strip tease and money harvest was repeated, and she too took a pole.

Next came a construction worker, complete with hardhat and work boots, while the MC continued his ironic narrative of women's rise in the world of work. After Miss Hard Hat left the main stage, suddenly, the lights dimmed, Jimmy Hendrix's slow, sexual beat was replaced by the startling cacophony of sirens blazing. Automatically, the three CBI agents went for where their guns normally would be before they remembered they were all unarmed for the evening.

Jane grinned in supreme amusement. _Once a cop_…

The lights strobed bright red, and a bit of a commotion began behind them at the club's main entrance.

"Oh, my God, ladies and gentlemen! It's a raid!"

Down the center aisle came a woman dressed as a police officer—minus the pants—blowing on her whistle and bouncing a billy club against one hand. She wore aviator sunglasses, her black leather jacket opened to her cleavage, the requisite thong, and her dark hair piled beneath a police cap.

"Oh man, oh man! She must be here to make an arrest!" said the MC. "I'm sure none of you will _come _quietly with her as your arresting officer!"

There were a few laughs at his obscene joke, and Officer Friendly began surveying the room in search of a likely suspect. She stopped along the way, mock-frisking a few men in exchange for tips, until she found her man, who by the will of the gods happened to be Jane. She stopped before him, pointing her club at his groin.

"Mister," she breathed, moving closer to him, legs spread wide. "You're under arrest!"

"What's the charge," asked Rigsby around his chortles of laughter.

"For being criminally handsome and stealing my heart."

The crowd laughed and cheered, while Lisbon looked heavenward.

Jane's eye widened as the stripper set her club on the table and slowly unsnapped her jacket, so everyone could clearly see she wore nothing underneath. She slowly reached up, giving him a glimpse of one tan breast, and removed her cap, shaking her long hair out so it floated about her shoulders. She kept on the aviators, and his eye went blearily to his own reflection.

"Put your hands behind your back and spread 'em," she ordered, stepping closer to insinuate one shapely leg between his thighs where he sat on the chair.

"You have the right to remain sexy. If you say anything, _I _will be held against you."

By this time, the combination of pain pills and alcohol were catching up with Jane, and he woozily complied. The _cop's_ hands came to rest on Jane's shoulders, and she began frisking him, her long red nails gliding over his chest, then slipping beneath his shirt to skate fleetingly across his stomach. Jane gasped at the unexpected sensation while a new, pulsing beat picked up from the speakers, the red strobe lights making him feel a bit off balance.

Beside him, Lisbon tensed. She could only see Jane's profile, but he seemed sort of out of it. _What the hell was wrong with him?_ She watched in awe as the woman lowered herself onto his lap, her buttocks squeezing as she moved forward atop his groin, holding onto the back of the chair for support. The crowd cheered and whistled.

Jane was only vaguely aware that he was receiving his first official lap dance, and he became a little confused. Things around him began to spin, and he felt like he was on the edge of consciousness. The face of the girl before him began to take on the characteristics of Lisbon's face as she leaned forward and whispered, "I love pirates. You want me to walk your plank, Captain Hook?"

"Teresa?" he said, his senses and body playing tricks on him. Lisbon's eyes shot to Jane in horror. Did he imagine this "cop" was _her_?

"No, baby, I'm Loretta," the stripper said.

This was not what Lisbon had envisioned for the evening at all.

"Hey," she said, getting up from her chair. "Get off of him!"

"Don't you mean, get _him _off, honey?" Loretta smirked. She was just doing her job; the dark-haired hottie at the other end of the table had paid her well to dance on _this_ blonde hottie. Not a bad day's work.

"Get up, now," Lisbon practically growled. She whipped out her badge from her jacket pocket. "I'm a _real _cop, lady."

"Boss—" Rigsby began in alarm. _It was just a lap dance, sheesh. What did she expect? _He looked around in embarrassment.

"All right, all right! We were just having a little fun, weren't we baby?" Loretta said to Jane, who was leaning against the back of his chair, eyes closed.

The manager of the club was making his way over to them, while the crowd started booing in confusion.

"Come on up here, Officer Friendly. Looks like someone's had too much to drink." His eyes were on Lisbon, however, not Jane. Lisbon gave him a dirty look and focused on her partner.

"Everything all right over here?" asked the manager.

"Yes," said Lisbon. "Police business." And she showed her badge again.

"We don't want any trouble. Loretta was paid extra for this." He shook his head and wandered off, putting as much distance between him and the cop as possible.

Lisbon looked angrily at Rigsby, who withered under her gaze. "Sorry, Boss; I thought it would be funny."

"Well it's not. Something's wrong with him."

"He only had one glass of beer," reasoned Rigsby, picking up Jane's empty glass.

"Did he have any more pain pills?" asked Van Pelt. Lisbon checked his jacket pocket and found the prescription bottle, which clearly stated: _Do not use alcohol while taking this drug._

"Holy shit, Jane! How many of these did you take?"

"Hmm?" said her consultant, looking up at her with a beatific grin. "Do you like pirates, Lisbon?"

"Let's get him out of here," said Lisbon, and the MC was gearing up for the next show.

Rigsby put his arm around Jane. "Can you walk?" he asked him.

"Maybe, but I'm setting out with bare poles, matey," he said, with a pirate's voice.

Lisbon rushed to get on his other side. "Lean on me, Captain Jack," said Lisbon sarcastically, and between the two of them, with Van Pelt clearing a path to the door, they managed to get Jane out and into Lisbon's car.

"He shouldn't be alone tonight, in case he gets sick…or slips into a coma, the idiot."

"I'd offer, Boss, but I don't have a couch," said Rigsby sheepishly. "I just have two recliners in the living room. Should I follow you two to your place and help you get him inside?"

Lisbon sighed. She supposed she could call Cho, but she didn't want to bug him on his night off, not with something that was technically her fault to begin with.

"Yeah, that's fine. I have a perfectly good couch, because that's what grown-ups do."

Rigsby shrugged. "I hate couches. They're never long enough for me…"

"You sure we shouldn't get his stomach pumped," said Van Pelt.

Lisbon looked at the bottle of pills, at the pill count listed on the label. She opened the cap and dumped a few into her hands.

"By my count, he's only had three total. I know he already took one or two last night, so he couldn't have had more than two today. I think he'll be all right."

"You want me to come with you and help you get him settled?"

"That's okay, Grace. You go on home. Thanks for coming. I feel like I keep getting deeper and deeper in debt with this stupid bet."

"If that's what you want…"

"See ya later, Grace," said Rigsby. And Lisbon ignored the impression she got that things were definitely on again with these two. Was the whole planet peopled with idiots, male and female alike?

By the time they reached Lisbon's apartment, Jane was completely passed out. RIgsby threw him effortlessly over his shoulder, sack of potatoes style, and laid him as gently as he could on Lisbon's very grown-up couch.

"Thanks, Rigsby. And in the future, if you want to change the terms of our wager, would you let me know, please?"

Rigsby flushed. "Sorry, Boss. Call me if you need any more help with him. Looks like he'll be out for the rest of the night, I'm guessing."

"Okay, see you tomorrow."

Lisbon shut the door behind him and turned to her unexpected guest. She switched on the lamp by the couch and busied herself pulling off his shoes. She knelt down beside him in order to lean him forward and remove his jacket. As he rested, a dead weight, against her shoulder, she took a moment to breathe him in.

His cologne smelled clean and subtle and infinitely arousing, and his hair was soft and fine as a child's. Her hands toyed with his curls for a moment while enjoying his comforting warmth against her body. She reluctantly settled him back against the throw pillows. Lisbon felt a familiar, sweet tenderness toward him, an ache in her heart for all he had gone through in his life, especially for what he'd done for her yesterday.

"Aw, Jane," she said on a sigh. "You are such a complicated man. And _I'm _the idiot, for even trying to figure you out."

His eye patch had been knocked askew and she gingerly lifted it to check how well his eye was healing. She knew these things usually looked worse before they got better, so if that was any indication, it should be all downhill from here. She put the patch back in place.

Lisbon retrieved a top sheet and blanket from the linen closet, draping them over his still body. She'd often dreamed of being alone with Jane in her apartment, but the circumstances she'd imagined had been much different from this scenario. She smiled and leaned over him for the second time that day. This time, however, she pressed her lips to his for a brief, tremulous moment, savoring their fullness, their softness. This would provide all new fodder for fantasies to come, with the added bonus of the rakish eye patch.

"Good night, me hearty," she said with a grin. Then she turned out the light to let him sleep it off.

**A/N: Okay, so this was totally silly and would never happen in a million years, but I had fun. Did you? **


	5. When Two Worlds Collide

A/N: Sorry if some of you found the lap dance disturbing, lol. I thought it would be less uncomfortable if Jane wasn't aware of the situation, because I have no earthly idea what he might have done had he known what was happening. Thanks for the great reviews. I apologize again for not replying, but I do read and take to heart every one you submit. I'm so excited you are enjoying this silly fic.

Now, many of you were equally excited where I left things last chapter, and by the end of this one, I hope some of your wishes will have come true…

**Chapter 5: When Two Worlds Collide**

Lisbon awoke to the sound of her shower running, which, at first, was very disorienting. She hadn't had anyone stay the entire night at her place in years. A man? Never. Her hand had gone automatically to the gun beneath her pillow, but as awareness returned, she remembered who it was who must be utilizing her bathroom.

It had been a long night. Despite her instincts telling her that Jane hadn't overdosed on alcohol and pain meds, she'd gotten up frequently in the night to check on him. He'd barely changed positions since she'd thrown the covers over him, just continued to sleep deeply and peacefully (if you didn't count the snoring). Finally, around four o'clock, she'd allowed herself to relax; there was still work in the morning.

She glanced at the bedside clock and noted with a groan that it was five a.m. Sometimes that man had the worst timing. She lay in her bed, wide awake now, realizing with wide eyes that Jane was naked right across the hall. What would he do if she joined him in the shower? She imagined his surprise at first, then he'd pull her, hot and wet, into his arms, kissing her as the water sluiced around them. He'd push her against the wall of the shower, hoisting one of her legs around his waist and… A wave of heat washed over her body, and she turned her face into the pillow, groaning for an entirely different reason.

Abruptly, the shower stopped. She'd left her bedroom door open so she could hear should Jane have needed her in the night, and the position of her bed afforded her an unobstructed view of the bathroom. She turned over on her back to watch vigilantly.

_Suppose he needs help in there?_ She thought. _Suppose he's still woozy from the drugs and loses his balance and falls out of the shower?_

Lisbon tensed, straining to listen. She was relieved when, after a minute, she heard the water running in the sink, and the distinct sound of gargling. She grinned. In lieu of having his own toothbrush, he must be using her mouthwash. Before she could close her eyes and fain sleep, the door opened, emitting a burst of steamy air.

When it cleared, there stood Jane, damp, naked back to her, his lower half encased in those sexy jeans of his. He had borrowed one of her pink disposable razors and was in the process of spreading her raspberry scented shaving cream on his face and below his chin. He took a washcloth and wiped at the fogged mirror, and she watched, fascinated, as he quickly and efficiently shaved his two-day's growth of beard.

Her heart began a steady tattoo against her chest as she saw his back muscles flex, admired again the way the unfamiliar jeans hugged his wonderful ass. It was surreal.

_Patrick Jane is in my bathroom shaving. Shirtless._

She'd never seen him do something so intimate before. He rinsed off and grabbed a hand towel from the rack, wiping at his face as he turned around-and she was caught.

_Busted,_ she thought, her face flushed.

Jane's quick gaze zeroed right in on hers and he grinned widely, stepping out of the bathroom and the two steps across the hall to stand at her bedroom door.

"Good morning, Lisbon," he said brightly. No trace of grogginess there.

"Morning," she said, sinking farther under her blankets. Apologizing for gawking at him would probably just make things even more awkward.

"Sorry if I woke you. It got too steamy in your bathroom and I had to open the door to see anything."

"You like your showers hot," she said.

His eyes grew amused. _Were they really talking about his shower?_

"Yeah," he said. "I do indeed."

She resisted the urge to shake her head violently to snap herself out of her sensual trance.

"How are you feeling?" she asked. "Your eye looks amazingly like a rainbow."

He chuckled. "Well, the pain has dropped tremendously, but I'm still a bit fuzzy about last night. Actually, I feel like I've lost an entire day. When I woke up earlier, it took me about five minutes to realize where I was. The last thing I remember yesterday was arriving at the club. The rest is all a blur. Eerily like coming out of a fugue state," he finished wryly.

"You were pretty out of it. Rigsby had to carry you over his shoulder to get you in here." And she laughed at the memory. It was funny, now.

"Great. Did I do anything particularly embarrassing?"

An image of him calling out her name while Officer Friendly gave him a lap dance came to mind. "Uh, no, not really."

Jane's eyes narrowed. "You're lying."

"Trust me, Jane, it's best that you don't know."

His smile faded. It must have been pretty bad if she didn't want to tell him. He resolved to question Rigsby thoroughly later.

"Okay. Well, thank you for letting me use your couch. I assume I must have been in such bad shape you thought I shouldn't be alone."

Her annoyance from last night returned. She sat up in her bed. "Yes. It was pretty stupid of you to drink while taking those pills. Don't you read warning labels?"

"You know, I've been thinking I might get some glasses. Lately I've been misreading a lot of things."

Again with the double meanings.

The blanket had fallen away when she sat up, revealing the yellow tank top she'd worn to bed. With no bra. Apparently, he liked what he saw, for his eyes darkened, his hands strangling the damp towel he still held. She pulled up her sheet self-consciously and he smiled.

_She certainly looks beautiful in the morning,_ was Jane's errant thought.

He figured she must have showered the night before, for her hair now hung in natural waves about her shoulders. Her sleepwear was certainly very enticing, at least the top half. At that moment, he wanted desperately to know what she might be hiding beneath those sheets. He never imagined he'd ever get to see her this way. No, that wasn't strictly true. He'd actually thought of this many times; the scenario was just completely different. He swallowed hard.

He wondered what she would do if he walked in and sat on her bed beside her. Would she push him away, or invite him to crawl in with her?

"Well, that kind of mistake could kill you," she was saying, and it took him a moment to remember the thread of their conversation instead of thinking she could suddenly read minds. "If I hadn't figured out how many pills you'd had yesterday, I might have taken you to get your stomach pumped like Van Pelt suggested."

Jane shuddered. He'd been through that before, all too recently. "Sorry about the inconvenience. I'll be much more careful next time."

"It wasn't that inconvenient. You just slept on my couch. And used my last razor."

_But it was worth it to see you like this._

Her eyes flicked over his cleanly-shaven face, then down his smooth, bare chest and lower, to where the pale hair on his stomach disappeared into faded blue denim. Jane felt his whole body grow hot at her blatant appraisal.

"I'll reimburse you," he said, pleased his voice didn't crack as it sometimes did when his emotions got the better of him.

She met his eyes again. "I'm just kidding about the razor. Make yourself at home. Speaking of which…I'd be happy to fix you some breakfast. You're probably starving."

"Why don't you just stay where you are and I'll go pick something up? I already cased the place, and you have exactly one egg, no milk, no bread, no pancake mix. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday so dry cereal and orange juice aren't gonna cut it for me. Plus, there's not a teabag to be found in the whole damn place."

"You're not supposed to drink tea for two weeks, remember?"

"You let me yesterday, when Grace made some for me."

She shrugged. "I felt sorry for you yesterday. Today, except for how god-awful your eye still looks, you seem good as new, so no tea."

"You're right. I'm fit as a fiddle and ready for breakfast. So, if you'll just loan me your car keys, I'll—"

"Ha. Nice try. You are absolutely not driving my Mustang. Give me fifteen minutes, and we can go out and find you some good, greasy diner food."

His expression brightened immediately. "I'll give you _twenty_ minutes if I get to pick the diner."

She smirked. "Fine. Now, get out so I can get dressed."

But he hesitated, leaning his bare back against the door frame, crossing his arms thoughtfully in front of him.

"You know, if I were a gun-toting, basketball playing, strip clubbing man of today, I'd just stand here and leer at you while you changed, wouldn't I?"

He had to be teasing her, of course. Or was that sparkle in his eyes a challenge? They both knew how she reacted to challenges, and he still wasn't budging.

Shyness on the back burner to a dare, Lisbon threw off her covers and swung her legs to the edge of the bed. Turns out, Jane observed, Lisbon wore only a tank top and bikini panties to bed, and her robe hung on a hook by her closet. He watched in well-concealed awe as she padded across the carpet to stand before him. She smelled of apple shampoo and warm, sleepy woman.

"You know, if I were a skirt-wearing, hair-coiffing, high heel-shod lady from the sixties, I'd cower beneath the covers and pray for some gentleman to save me from your lechery."

Jane dropped his hands to his sides, the damp towel slipping to the floor. His hands clenched into fists, as if he were restraining himself from touching her.

"I know a secret about women, Lisbon," he said softly, blue-green eyes dark and intent on hers. "It doesn't matter what time in history a woman is from, she wants to be looked upon with appreciation and even lust—by the right man, of course."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt her pulse quicken.

Who was this Jane, who could ratchet up the heat between them with just a few well-chosen, sensual words?

"I-I can't argue with that," she managed in a halting whisper.

She was so close that it would only take one step to be standing in his very personal space. The scent of raspberries and deodorant soap clung to his skin, and she haltingly breathed him in. She reached out her small hand to touch his warm chest, and Jane felt as if it were burning a hole right through to his heart.

What would she do if he gave in to his basest impulses and pulled her into his arms? Would she gladly melt into him, accept the wild kisses he longed to give her? Or blacken his other eye?

Jane belatedly realized that her touch was not strictly a caress, for she was slowly propelling him backwards into the hall. Before his head could catch up with the rest of his body, however, her hand was on the door and she was pushing it closed between them.

She paused when he could only see her through a small crack in the doorway.

"And I know a secret about you, Patrick Jane. Despite your treatment of others to the contrary, you are always a complete gentleman with me."

And she shut the door the last inch.

"It's actually a bit of a curse sometimes," she heard him say dryly.

She leaned her back against the door, heart still racing, a small smile dimpling her cheeks.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With no case to occupy him, Jane was resigned to sit on his couch and not drink tea or sit in Lisbon's office and not drink tea. In the interest of self-preservation, he chose his couch, but his eyes kept straying to Lisbon's office. With nothing to do, it also gave him plenty of time to mull over ad nauseum the morning's events.

Twenty minutes after Lisbon had shut her door on him in her apartment, she had emerged from her bedroom, dressed in a simple black skirt and elegant green blouse, frilly at the neckline and belted at her slim waist. She'd fashioned her hair into a high chignon, and she looked sweet and very professional. He'd complimented her enough to bring color to her cheeks, but as much as he liked her attire, the image of her in her underwear earlier would not leave his mind. So much for the feminine mystique; he'd had a glimpse into Lisbon's, and he wanted to see more—_much_ more.

He had changed out of his jeans and t-shirt into the spare suit he kept in the CBI locker room, and for a brief moment, he really wished he could be a different kind of man for Lisbon. Was that what she really wanted? A man's man who liked strippers and domestic beer?

His mother had taught him to respect women, to open their doors and avoid swearing around them. Women should be treated like queens, she had told him. Sometimes he wondered if being a gentleman really _was_ a curse, like he'd told Lisbon that morning. His body had certainly screamed at him to pick her up and carry her to that messy bed of hers. He wanted to show her that he could act very _un_gentlemanly, given the right circumstances.

With a sigh of resignation, he went to the break room and eyed the thick, dark liquid that passed for coffee. He'd just poured it down the sink when Rigsby arrived, empty cup in hand, hoping, no doubt for a refill.

"Hey," he said, "that was just settling into the right consistency."

Jane looked to the heavens. "Coffee should have the consistency of water until you liberally lace it with cream and sugar. No way am I drinking that black tar. And anyway, aren't you supposed to be drinking tea?"

"Don't rat me out, man," Rigsby said sotto voce. He pulled from his pocket one of Jane's tea bags which he'd cut open and emptied out the tealeaves.

"I dunk this in my coffee and Grace can see the tea string and label dangling out of my cup." He chuckled at his own cleverness.

Jane shook his head. "It will be very bad for you if you get busted."

"You're just saying that because you hadn't thought of something this smart."

"No, you certainly one-upped me."

He opened the coffee tin near the maker and looked sadly at the freeze dried grounds. _Not even whole beans_. _What kind of barbarism was this?_

"There's a Coke in the fridge," Rigsby suggested helpfully.

"Can you drink it hot?"

Rigsby laughed. "I don't think you'd want to."

Jane sighed heavily and began scooping coffee into the filter.

"Looks like you recovered from your adventure in mixing pain meds and booze," Rigsby commented.

"Oh yeah, I've been meaning to ask you about that. It's pretty much a blur to me. Did I do anything completely out of character? Lisbon sure acted like I had."

"Not really. Once that stripper started giving you that lap dance, you—"

"What?"

"Oh, my God! You don't remember? The girl was dressed like a cop. You freakin' called her Lisbon!" And then Rigsby began to laugh until tears gathered in his eyes.

Jane stood before the coffee pot, mortified. Normally he didn't take himself too seriously, but this was a very unique situation, to say the least.

About this time, Cho joined them in the break room for a refill. He frowned at the empty pot.

"Talking about the lap dance?" he said, the brief sparkle in his eye the only indication of how humorous he'd found Rigsby's twice-told tale.

Jane didn't even know what to ask now; he was afraid to hear any more. He forced his suddenly cold hands to fill the coffee maker with water and flip on the switch.

"Enjoy the ballet tonight," Jane said meanly, and Cho actually grinned at how suddenly Rigsby's face fell.

Jane left them to their brewing coffee and escaped upstairs to his attic lair.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"Where's Jane?" asked Lisbon to the bullpen at large.

"I think he's licking his wounds in the attic," said Rigsby sourly. His coffee was so weak, it may as well have been tea.

"What did you do, Rigsby?"

"Me? Nothing. I just filled him in on what he missed last night. You know, he didn't even thank me for hauling his butt to your couch."

"He didn't remember?" asked Van Pelt. She cringed. "Poor guy. I'll bet he was embarrassed." She adjusted her fitted jumper and looked sympathetically toward the attic.

Without another word, Lisbon headed for the elevator (no way she'd climb two flights in heels).

She knocked loudly on the door to his man cave.

"Jane, it's me. Open up."

"I'm busy," he called after a moment.

"I've got baseball tickets…" she tempted, reaching into her skirt pocket.

The door slid open immediately. "Really?"

She held up the pair of Oakland A's tickets as proof. She'd bought them from a friend in Accounting who had season tickets but couldn't go that night.

"I thought I'd give you a break of sorts today. Baseball is still a very masculine pursuit, right? And since I didn't think you were up to playing touch football…"

"No," he said gravely. "I honestly don't think I'd survive it."

She knew how much he liked _this_ sport, at least. He could spit out baseball statistics like a computer. She turned to leave, glad she had cheered him up, and looking forward to spending another evening with him more than she wanted to admit to herself.

"Well, we should leave right after work if we're going to make it through traffic in time."

"Hey, Lisbon. Rigsby filled me in on what happened last night. I want to apologize if I did anything that made you…uncomfortable."

"You didn't do anything really, just sort of… sat there. Rigsby is to blame. He paid for that stripper to do what she, uh, did."

"I must have been pretty delusional, to call her by your name." He made himself look her in the eye, and she blushed at the memory.

"Yeah. Drugs and alcohol definitely don't mix. But I'm sorry this week hasn't really been that fun for you. This was supposed to be a bit less painful."

"It hasn't been all that bad."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, it's been pretty ghastly. I'm sorry I've disappointed you. You know what they say about leopards and spots."

"It wasn't my intention for you to feel bad about yourself. Or to change you," she said seriously. Suddenly, it seemed more important for him to know this than to win a stupid bet.

"Well, that's a good thing," he was saying, "because there's another expression about old dogs and new tricks."

"I guess so. But after tonight, I think I'm willing to forget this stupid bet if you are."

He watched her a moment, his eyes roaming up and down her charmingly old-fashioned outfit, pausing at her shapely calves. "I don't know, Lisbon. I think I'd miss the skirts."

She smiled, and maybe even preened a bit. "You know what? I've actually enjoyed dressing up this week. I might work skirts back into my wardrobe occasionally."

"You won't hear me complaining."

The silence that followed was unusually awkward, and Lisbon turned once again toward the door and the safety of her beckoning office. It had never bothered her to be alone with Jane—she trusted him implicitly in this case, at least—but she'd never been so aware of him as a man before. He'd shaved half-naked in her bathroom that morning, for God's sake.

She held out her hand to present him with the tickets. "Why don't you hold onto these."

He took them from her, and when their fingers touched, they both felt the mild jolt that passed between them.

"I'll see you in a few hours," he said.

"Yes, you will."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Back in his jeans and a clean shirt, and Lisbon in her own feminine version of the same, they met in the parking lot of the CBI after work. With a new awareness humming between them, they suddenly felt like they were on a date, but there was no way either of them would admit it.

She must have been feeling really bad about his eye and the disastrous night in the club, for she let Jane drive them in his Citroen all the way to Oakland.

"You're drug free tonight, right?" she verified as he started the engine.

"I vow I will never again get elbowed in the eye while playing pickup basketball, so that won't be something you have to worry about."

She laughed and the rest of the trip was spent talking baseball stats and sixties fashion.

Xxxxxxxxxxx

The Oakland Coliseum was alive with spectators-families, guys out with the guys, people on dates—all having a good time and looking forward to the A's beating the Houston Astros. Once they got past the gate, Jane made a beeline for the concession stand.

"You can't watch a baseball game without a hotdog or two," he claimed, ordering two for both of them, along with the requisite two Cokes. When he looked up from paying for their dinner, Lisbon had disappeared.

"Lisbon!" he called, attempting to load himself up with his purchases.

She returned, weaving her way through the crowd.

"There you are! I thought you'd ditched me."

"Nope, just had a little errand to run."

With a mischievous grin, she produced an Oakland A's cap from behind her back and put it on his head, adjusting it so it sat at a rakish angle upon his curls. With his hands full of hot dogs, he could do nothing but grin back at her.

"Now the look's complete," she said triumphantly.

"Gee, thanks. Now, could you please take these drinks before I spill them?"

They found their seats behind first base and settled in to eat, Jane commenting between mouthfuls on the players and each team's chances of a win. It was an exciting game, and they found themselves on their feet cheering and high-fiving on many occasions.

Between innings, they sang along with the organ music of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame," and watched the funny videos on the Jumbotron. Then came Lisbon's favorite gimmick—the Kiss Cam. They watched in amusement as the cameras focused on couples sitting in the stands, catching them unawares until they saw themselves up on the Jumbotron. The pair were expected (and strongly encouraged) by the crowd to kiss.

"Well, they're on the verge of divorcing," said Jane of one reluctantly kissing couple. "This ballgame might be the last straw for her—look at her expression."

They both laughed as the wife wiped her mouth after her husband's halfhearted kiss. And then, like magic, their own laughing faces appeared on the screen, and from that moment, everything happened very quickly. Lisbon found herself pulled roughly into Jane's embrace, his warm, full lips meeting hers. For an instant she froze, but he was persistent in getting her to snap out of her shock and kiss him back. And then she did, wholeheartedly.

The roaring crowd was drowned out by the sound of her heartbeat in her ears, the harsh quickness of Jane's breathing. The seconds seemed like minutes as the kiss went on and on, her mouth opening to admit his seeking tongue, impatient hands knocking his hat off to delve into his hair and bring him closer still. She moaned softly and the kiss deepened further. They forgot where they were, forgot they were on camera, forgot everything in the world but the feeling of heated lips and the sensual tangling of tongues.

"Hey," cried a man behind them. "Get a room, will ya?"

The nearby laughter brought them out of their spell, and Jane smiled at Lisbon's dazed expression, then, ever the showman, he waved triumphantly to their audience via the Jumbotron, giving Lisbon a brief, smacking kiss on the lips. The stadium filled with laughter, applause and a few crude comments, but then the camera moved on to other victims, and Jane and Lisbon were left with pounding hearts and shell-shocked expressions.

"Well," said Jane when the game resumed. "There'll be no keeping this a secret." He cast her a sidelong look of amusement.

Lisbon smiled, her lips still tingling.

"Nope, I suppose not."

And then the first of many excited text messages blew up her phone.

**A/N: Okay, I know that was pretty cheesy, but give me a break. I've written so many first kisses between them by now that I'm trying to keep it fresh each time. I hope you found it as funny as I did.**

**Now, the bad news (at least for this fic). I'll be on vacation for the next week, so it is highly unlikely I'll have a new chapter up for awhile. I will probably do some writing on the plane, because I can't quit cold turkey, so hopefully I'll have something for you the minute I get back. **

**Thanks again for reading!** **See you back here soon!**


	6. The Law of Universal Gravitation

A/N: A sincere thank you for those of you who reviewed the last chapter of this fic, and for your patience in waiting for this update. While I was away on vacation, I realized I could easily conclude this story in one final chapter, so that is what I have done here. The last sections are on the M side, but not too distasteful, I hope.

P.S.: Attention nerds: check out Isaac Newton for an explanation of this chapter's title.

**Chapter 6: The Law of Universal Gravitation**

Jane and Lisbon sat and didn't watch the ballgame for an entire inning, their roiling thoughts keeping them too occupied to focus on the field. Lisbon had long since turned off her phone in aggravation. During the third inning stretch, Jane was brave enough to look over at Lisbon.

"Let's get out of here, he said with sudden determination.

"But it's only the third inning," she said automatically, with no real conviction.

He gave her a look of wry incredulity.

"All right," she said on a sigh.

He took her hand and practically dragged her down the steps of the bleachers, pulling her through the crush surrounding the concession stands, then out the gate and into the parking lot. The lights shone brightly from the stadium, and they could hear the distant call of the next batter up. It was only then that Jane slowed down, but still held fast to her hand.

"I guess we should talk," Lisbon said reluctantly.

Jane came to a complete stop and turned to look at her.

"We've been talking for ten years, Lisbon. I really don't want to talk anymore."

She saw the intent in his eyes and backed away a step. _So, she wasn't much for public displays, _he realized. He wasn't either, to tell the truth, but at the moment he didn't care who saw them, who knew what he was feeling for this woman, now that his emotional and physical dam had been broken.

He acceded to her wishes, however, and they continued their trek back to Jane's car. When they reached the Citroen, Jane stopped so abruptly that Lisbon ran into him, which put her exactly where he wanted her. He grinned at her discomposure and dipped his head down to find her lips again, proceeding to kiss her for all he was worth.

He found he liked taking her off guard, liked the way she hesitated before throwing herself body and soul into their kisses. It made his galloping heart suddenly jump with glee, very much like looking down from the crest of a roller coaster's first hill. He smiled against her lips, but when she made a soft sound in her throat as she kissed him back, his smile disappeared and he became profoundly serious.

_I'm kissing Lisbon_, his mind said surreally. _Teresa, whom I've always dreamed of kissing like this._

Deeply and slowly, as if they weren't standing in the middle of the Oakland Coliseum parking lot, they explored each other's mouths, learned their tastes, learned what movements made the other shudder with arousal. Jane didn't pause now to think about what this might mean to their friendship, let alone to their working relationship, although he had the sneaking suspicion Lisbon might be (if she were thinking at all). For the first time in years, he was following his heart and doing exactly what he wanted, unmindful of what would be the best way to get Red John, without some ulterior motive to flush out a killer. This was all for him, and for his love of Lisbon.

"Jane," she was saying, as her body grew weak in his arms. He'd slid his mouth across her cheek to her ear, his arms wrapped around her so she wouldn't fall limply to the pavement. But also so he could stand as closely as he could to her warmth, her softness, her sweetly feminine scent.

"Teresa," he replied in a whisper. He felt her shiver and he lingered at her neck.

"Jane, can we please find somewhere less public to _not_ talk?"

He chuckled in such a seductive way that she almost pulled him back for another drugging kiss, but they had to stop this before they ended up making love on the hood of Jane's car. He lifted his head to examine her, noting with simmering passion her swollen lips and dazed eyes. He could get used to this Lisbon, and he vowed to see her like this as often as she allowed him.

"I'd like to show you something," he said. "You game?"

She smiled shyly. "Sure."

From the baseball field the loudspeaker announced that someone for the A's had hit a homerun.

Jane opened the passenger door for her and she settled heavily into the seat, heart pounding frantically. She had only a moment to catch her breath before he got in and started the car. She watched as he expertly maneuvered through the parking lot, then turned toward a residential area in Oakland. She slid back against her seat as the Citroen struggled to climb a particularly steep hill, before Jane turned past a sign marked _Scenic Turnout_. He put the car in park and Lisbon stared out the windshield, catching her breath in surprise.

Spread out before them like a jeweled black blanket were the lights of Oakland, and beyond that the Bay Bridge. Further out, the twinkling dots that made up San Francisco beckoned to them from across the bay.

"Wow," she breathed.

"Indeed," he said, but she sensed he was looking at her and not the view.

It was then that Lisbon noticed the cars parked beside them, their windows fogged up suspiciously. Her eyes narrowed.

"You brought me to the local Inspiration Point, didn't you?"

His teeth shone brightly in the dim light. He shrugged. "Guilty as charged."

"I don't even want to know how you knew about this place."

"It was the most private place I could think of on such short notice, unless you want to find a hotel room somewhere, which I admit I wouldn't find to be a completely horrible idea—"

"No, this is fine," she rushed to say. The interior of the Citroen wasn't large enough for them to get into too much trouble. A hotel room, on the other hand…

When Jane spoke next, he was suddenly solemn. "You're right, Teresa; we should talk about this. I'll go first."

"Okay."

"You must feel like this is too sudden, too much to take in, even though we've known each other the better part of a decade."

"Yes, but—"

He ignored her interruption. "You are afraid of how this will affect us and the team. You wonder if I'm really ready for a relationship with anyone. What's more, you question my feelings for you, given how I denied expressing them once before…"

His words hung in the air of the quiet car, but then Lisbon spoke, her voice laced with gentle sarcasm.

"Well, great. I'm glad we had this conversation."

She hated it when he seemed to read her mind. Jane unbuckled his seatbelt and turned toward her, reaching for her cold hands.

"Let me answer your questions for you. It's not too fast, I _am_ ready, and we will be up front with the team about this. Actually, the Jumbotron already helped us out with that. If anyone has issues with our relationship, they'll just have to deal with it."

"Now we're in a _relationship_?" she said incredulously. "I know it's been a while since you swam in the dating pool, but modern women aren't automatically ready to settle down after two kisses, Jane."

She tried to pull her hands away, but he tightened his grip.

"Don't give me that modern woman spiel again, Teresa. Kissing me is more than just a casual thing for you and you know it. I'm not some turtleneck wearing Lothario, only out for a one-night-stand—"

"Oh, really?" she said in offended disbelief. "Do I dare invoke the name of Lorelei Martins?"

"That was totally different. _You_ are totally different," he said, his voice going low with emotion. "You want this as much as I do, and I'm not going to let you wiggle out of it because you're frightened—like I was before I kissed you. But now that I have," he said, reaching down to release the old-fashioned seatbelt at her waist, "I intend to do it as often as I can." He drew her closer across the bench seat, but he could still sense her token resistance.

"I'm not sure I like this caveman behavior," she said, but her voice lacked conviction. "Maybe I've created a monster by forcing you to undertake all these recent manly pursuits."

He grinned. "And you're going to try to put me off, just like a good girl from the sixties would, fearful I won't respect you in the morning." He reached up and brushed her hair back from her face. "But you don't have to worry on that score," he said softly.

She smiled, but her pulse had picked up speed at the tender way he was looking at her. "You're just trying to get into my pants."

"Yes, Lisbon. Yes, I am," he said, and then he found her lips again.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

They had agreed to end the bet, but Lisbon couldn't resist one more day of wearing her sixties era garb, because she knew how much Jane enjoyed seeing her like that. He'd dropped her at home late the night before, after having made out like teenagers in the front seat of his car. But she hadn't let him go beyond second base, admittedly afraid that, despite the culmination of years of being in love with him, a hurried jump into the physical would somehow screw it up. She'd let him walk her to her apartment door and kiss her not so chastely goodnight, batting his wandering hands away. She'd almost relented, for a turned on Jane was a force to be reckoned with.

And so she'd arrived at work with a fluttering heart, ignoring the knowing looks and whispers from everyone who had either seen firsthand her very public kiss with her consultant, or heard about it through the tremendous CBI grapevine. Hell, the video of it was probably on YouTube for all she knew.

Jane was in his usual position on his couch, sipping the newly permitted tea in the silence before everyone else arrived to start the day. She nodded at him through the glass windows on her way to the coffee pot. Jane grinned and took his tea with him to meet her in the break room.

"Good morning. You look especially beautiful today," he said, admiring her Audrey Hepburn look from the first day of their bet.

She blushed. "Thank you. I wish you would wear your jeans to work sometime," she said boldly. He grinned and stepped closer.

"Hmm. You like those, do you?"

"There's something to be said about stereotypical macho male attire."

"And even more to say about dresses that zip down the back," he added wickedly, fingering the zipper pull at her nape.

"Ahem." Rigsby cleared his throat none too discreetly. "Morning," he said. "Great ballgame last night. Lots of homeruns." A barely contained grin hovered about his lips.

"I thought you were at the ballet with Van Pelt," said Lisbon.

"Oh, I was. I DVR'd the game though."

"Good for you," replied his boss coldly, and Rigsby sobered up immediately.

Lisbon finished pouring her coffee, lacing it with more sugar than usual. Jane still kept his grin, amused to see her so off balance. It was an endearing look for her.

"Staff meeting in twenty," she said before turning her back on the two men.

"Yes, Boss," said Rigsby obediently.

"She's just embarrassed," Jane explained when she'd left the break room.

"I can imagine. Boy, you really laid one on her, didn't you? I'm surprised she didn't sock you in the nose later."

"Who said she didn't?"

Rigsby looked at his face critically. It was hard to tell if there was any new damage there, given the still-mottled colors around his eye. Then his smile returned.

"I don't think so. She looked pretty into it. You both did."

Jane wasn't one to kiss and tell, although if a picture was worth a thousand words, a live broadcast had to be worth at least a million. He couldn't keep the smile off his face, either; he and Lisbon had plans for after work.

Van Pelt and Cho entered the break room, making a beeline to the coffee pot, Van Pelt holding a familiar pink bakery box. Thanking her profusely, Jane absconded with a blueberry muffin, Rigsby a jelly doughnut, and Cho a plane cake, the better to dunk in his coffee.

"How was the ballet last night?" Jane asked Van Pelt around a bite of muffin.

"I had to keep hitting Wayne to keep him awake, but other than that, it was beautiful." She gave Rigsby a dirty look, to which he shrugged unapologetically.

"I heard you and Lisbon had a good time at the ballgame though," she added with a wry grin.

Cho gave an almost inaudible snort of amusement, and left with his coffee and breakfast.

"Yes."

"Who won?" asked Van Pelt curiously, and Jane had the distinct impression she was testing him.

"The A's, ten to six." Jane was glad he happened to have heard the score on the radio that morning.

"Lisa from Vice told me she saw you two leaving not long after your uh, screen debut."

"Aw, Grace, you know gossip can be very unreliable."

"Oh, I know," she said, pulling out her phone. "That's why she texted me this picture of the two of you leaving. Note the time it was sent—somewhere around the time of the…third inning?"

"I wouldn't ask the boss," chimed in Rigsby. "She's very sensitive about it."

"She's just embarrassed," Van Pelt echoed Jane's earlier suggestion. "And who could blame her? I'd knock Rigsby out if he did such a thing."

Jane snared a bear claw for Lisbon to take with him to her office. "Apparently you and Wayne had a good long talk about my date with Lisbon. And let me say, Grace, I like your dress today. Wasn't it the same one you had on yesterday?"

Rigsby nearly choked on his doughnut, a vision of last night with Van Pelt suffusing his mind. She'd told him she once wanted to be a ballet dancer, then proceeded to prove to him how limber she still was. She hadn't had time to go home this morning.

Jane grinned knowingly, and slipped off to make his delivery to Lisbon, leaving Rigsby and Van Pelt staring at each other with blushing affection.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jane found Lisbon hard at work on her usual stack of forms, one lock of dark hair having fallen from her Hepburnesque updo. She looked up and took the pastry gratefully, having been too nervous that morning to eat a thing.

"How are you holding up?" he asked sympathetically, taking his place in the chair before her desk. "I know how much you love attention."

"I should have punched you in the nose the minute you kissed me," she said grumpily.

Jane's eyes sparkled at her. "That seems to be the consensus. But I'm glad you didn't."

Her annoyance with the situation immediately lessened. "Me too," she admitted.

"Come to dinner with me tonight. I'd like to do some actual talking. Well, and some more _not_ talking would be nice too."

She nodded, her face rosy with anticipation.

"Okay."

"I'll pick you up at seven."

"I'll be ready," she said.

By then it was time for their monthly staff meeting, for which Lisbon was unusually grateful. No way she could concentrate on paperwork with her sexy consultant asleep on her couch.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At seven that evening, Jane knocked on Lisbon's apartment door. She wore a dress again, but this one was totally modern—it was a wrap dress, red and form fitting, with a deep _V _where the fabric crossed, revealing a tantalizing hint of cleavage. Black stilettos showed off the legs he'd enjoyed getting to know that week.

"My, oh my," he said in appreciation. "I see the merits now of living in the twenty-first century."

He was dressed in a navy blue suit that she had never seen before. It was obviously Italian and expensive, and with his hair carefully combed for once, he looked like he'd stepped off the cover of GQ. He'd even worn a tie, which she knew he hated. Except for his injured eye, he was perfect.

"You clean up nicely for a Neanderthal," she teased.

He punished her sassiness by pulling her roughly to his body with one hand, ravaging her mouth like the caveman she'd accused him of being, even tugging gently at her hair for emphasis. When he made a guttural sound in his throat, she laughed and pulled breathlessly away.

"Before you throw me over your shoulder and carry me off to your cave, we should be going, don't you think?"

He smiled, then brought from behind his back the present he'd been hiding-a florist's box with a clear plastic cover. Her eyes grew wide and then squinted with laughter.

"A corsage? You've gotta be kidding me."

Jane removed the delicate white orchid from its cardboard nest and slipped the attached elastic over her small wrist.

"I'm an old-fashioned guy, despite your attempts at making me otherwise."

She looked down at the beautiful flower. "It's lovely, really. And for the record, that's one of the things I love about you. You're a gentleman, and that trait is in limited supply these days."

She kissed his cheek, loving the feel of its smoothness beneath her lips, breathing in his sensual cologne. "Thank you," she whispered, and it was all Jane could do not to back her into her apartment and show her just how ungentlemanly he could be.

Xxxxxxxxxxxx

Dinner was delicious—a classy steakhouse known for its tender filet mignon and heavenly crème brulee. They talked and laughed just as they had always done, only now they found themselves teasing with their words as well as with their eyes.

"So," he began, midway through their salad course, "what will you take away from this experiment of ours?"

She cocked her head, munching on an endive leaf.

"Hmmm…that Eve's Vintage Apparel is the best place to buy sixties fashions." _And that I love you with all my heart. _ But she didn't dare say that aloud.

"Yes," he said dryly. "That's good to know."

"You?" she asked, meeting his eyes over her wine glass.

"Well, it would seem that basketball is definitely not my sport, but damned if I don't have a new respect for baseball." _ And I never thought feeling this way would be possible again. _His true thoughts remained unspoken, but they were there for her to see in his eyes, in his smile, just as he had clearly read the secret desire in hers.

"Nothing like a healthy appreciation for the great American pastime," she commented.

He reached across the table and briefly touched her hand, finding that he actually had to force himself to eat the incredible filet the waiter had set before him instead of acting on his baser instincts and fleeing with her to the nearest bed.

In some ways, dinner passed quickly, as they circled the real issue between them by debating the state of male and female relationships in modern society. But in other ways, the meal seemed to drag, as each one contemplated almost giddily what was likely to happen when they left the restaurant.

When the check finally arrived and they fought over who would pay (Jane won with little actual resistance), they found themselves hurrying to get out the door. On their way through the foyer, someone recognized them.

"Hey, Rachel," said a man to his date. "That's the kissing couple from the A's game."

Rachel's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I think you're right!"

"That was the best kiss I've ever seen on the Jumbotron," said the male patron to Jane. "You did mankind proud, man."

"Thank you," said Jane politely, though he was preening inside at the compliment.

Lisbon, however, was red as a beet.

"Honey," said Rachel to Lisbon, "if Jim kissed me like that, I'd probably faint. You hold on to this guy. He's a keeper." Her eyes roamed over Jane with unabashed appreciation.

Jim was suitably offended by his girl's remark, but Lisbon couldn't help but smile.

"Yes," she said, squeezing Jane's hand. "He is."

Outside the restaurant, Lisbon was the one to hasten Jane to the car this time. Before she slid into the passenger side, she kissed him gently on the lips.

"Let's go to my place," she whispered over her pounding heart.

He returned her kiss, holding back so he wouldn't make a scene in yet another parking lot.

"Good idea," he said.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The moment Lisbon's apartment door closed behind them, Jane's hands were at the front tie of her dress. He unwrapped her like a present, kissing each sweet curve he revealed, while Lisbon worked at disrobing him with equal fervor and delight. Their mouths fused together as clothes disappeared and Jane steered her toward the bedroom. When she stood naked before him, he picked her up in a decidedly domineering way, but she didn't mind at all, as long as he was carrying her to bed. Their trepidations of the night before had all but evaporated. Neither of them could think of a reason to wait a moment longer.

He laid her down on the green down comforter, kissing her deeply on the mouth before moving lower to her neck, then finding her breasts in the darkness. He suckled her, gently at first, then with increasing intensity, building up her arousal until her initial cries became long moans of need. His hand moved between their bodies, settling against the moist heat between her thighs. She trembled against him, and he massaged her there while his mouth continued to lick and tug at her sensitized breasts.

"Jane," she whimpered, her hands moving frantically from his hair to his shoulders, seeking relief from his sweet torment. "Please."

He moved up her body to kiss her again, his tongue plunging in deeply at the same time he entered her body. Becoming a part of her was so beautiful, so powerful, that for a moment, Jane's whole world went black, and he had to take a moment to acclimate himself to being surrounded by such intensity of feeling. Beneath him, Lisbon began to writhe impatiently, panting for him to move, undulating her hips to get him started again.

He groaned when she bent her knees, allowing him to go deeper still, and he somehow forced himself to come to his senses. His first slow stroke had her crying out, and they began a synchronous rhythm, their excitement building steadily until the bed quaked with their passion, the small bedroom echoing with their cries.

She found her release before he did, and the spasms of her climax threw his body into a frenzy. He continually rocked into her, his forehead and chest dampening with sweat as he neared the end of his endurance yet willed himself to hold out a few moments longer. His patience was rewarded by yet another yelp of impending orgasm, and he coaxed it out of her completely until he followed after her, calling her name as his body jerked and trembled in release.

Later, as their bodies cooled, Lisbon lay nestled against his side, her head resting upon his chest.

"I don't know why men and women fight against this," he said, his eyes closed in the midst of his euphoria, "why they resist what they know will be a forgone biological conclusion."

"Because we're not animals," she said lazily, her body still numb from the wondrous things he'd done to her. "There's much more to physical intimacy than inserting flap _A_ into slot _B_."

She heard his soft chuckle beneath her ear. "I should hope so."

He felt her smile against his chest. "You know what I mean. If you are a person with more emotions than a tomcat, you make love with your mind just as much as your body."

She felt his kiss on the top of her head. "I'm not going to argue with that."

"Good, because you know I'm right." She reached up and kissed his bruised cheekbone. "Hey," she said, her hand coming up gingerly to caress his face. "I've been meaning to thank you for this."

He raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "For getting an elbow to the eye? I should think you'd be more grateful to Jesse from Vice, since you threaten bodily harm to me on a daily basis."

She looked at him seriously, her heart in her eyes. "Cho told me that you were defending my honor."

Jane was quiet a moment. "He shouldn't have. That was between that nitwit and me, and given that his jaw is likely in as sad a shape as my eye, I'd say we're even."

"Thank you nonetheless. That was very chivalrous of you, and I'm sorry I came down so hard on you for it."

"I'd have done it a million times over, suffered _both_ eyes gouged out to protect your reputation. Anyone who doubts that your body was made for a man's is touched in the head, as far as I'm concerned."

He felt himself reliving those moments of intense, seeing-red anger, and his arms tightened about her as he rolled atop her once more, kissing her possessively. After a few moments, during which time she felt the evidence of his renewed desire against her stomach, he raised his head to look at her, straining to see her in the darkness.

"I might not be your stereotypical man's man, Lisbon, but I'm violently loyal to those I love. You of all people should know that."

"Those you _love_?" she whispered, and he realized what he had finally admitted.

"Yes," he said. "I love you, Teresa. I should have told you every day since the moment I first felt it. But frankly I was scared, and I felt guilty about feeling this way about anyone but my wife. But this past week I realized that fighting these feelings wasn't bringing my wife back, and it certainly hasn't landed me Red John…"

"No, it hasn't. And for what it's worth, I never really wanted you to change. I love you just the way you are—tea-drinking, gun-shy, suit-wearing, old-fashioned, and so incredibly sexy that you make my legs weak just by smiling at me. I love you, and have since the day you came into the CBI, so lost and tragic it nearly broke my heart."

"I hope I'm not that pathetic anymore," he said wistfully. "When I met you, I was a real basket case. You gave me something to live for, and I know I wouldn't have survived all these years of setbacks and disappointments without you in my life. So I'm the one who should be thanking you, Teresa."

He kissed her again and after a moment smoothly joined with her body once more.

_**Two weeks later…**_

Jane woke with a start to a sharp pounding on his door. Since he'd been spending practically every night making love to Lisbon lately, he'd finally claimed extreme sexual exhaustion, kissed Lisbon good-night, and retired to the relative quiet of his motel room.

"I'm not a young man anymore," he'd explained, "and my life has gone from famine to feast in a fortnight. I need my rest, such as it is, and the only way to resist you is to climb into my own bed…alone." It wasn't much of an exaggeration.

She had pouted prettily, but had told him she understood, teasing him about being too much woman for him.

"There's no arguing with that," he'd said with a smile.

He tried to ignore the knocking now, turning over and putting the pillow over his head, but it only seemed to increase.

"Open up," came a woman's guttural voice. "Police!"

Jane sat upright in his bed, tossing the pillow away in frustration. He stumbled out of bed, pajama shirt hanging open over the matching bottoms, and squinted through the peephole. Sure enough, the tunnel vision image of a policewoman stood on the other side, hair hidden beneath a blue police cap pulled low over her forehead, dark aviators covering her eyes. She must have sensed his presence behind the door, for she held up a badge from the San Francisco Police Department, completely filling the peephole. Jane had seen a lot of badges in his day, and this one looked pretty legitimate.

He yawned and reluctantly unbolted then unchained the door. By then, a few other motel patrons had opened their doors and peered curiously at the policewoman.

"Get back in your rooms," she ordered. "Police business." They quickly shut and locked themselves in, perfectly willing to stay out of the way of the police.

The moment Jane's door opened, she pushed it all the way in and stepped over the threshold. Jane, still bleary from sleep, stepped slowly out of her way.

"Look, Officer, I think you've got the wrong room—"

Then he looked at her—_really_ looked at her, and laughed at his own gullibility. "Lisbon?"

"That's _Officer _Lisbon to you, pal," she said, pushing up the sleeves of her old SFPD jacket and advancing ominously toward him.

This fantasy was too good not to go along with, thought Jane. He smirked.

"What's this all about, Officer Lisbon?"

"You're under arrest, for being criminally handsome and stealing my heart."

The words sounded familiar to Jane, but he couldn't quite place where he'd heard them before.

"Okay, copper, you caught me." He raised his hands in surrender. She pushed him roughly onto the bed.

"Stay where you are," she ordered, then one hand went to the pocket of her jacket. Suddenly, music filled the room: Cheap Trick's, _The Dream Police. _

Lisbon's hand rose to the top of her jacket zipper. Slowly, hips swaying in time to the music, she began pulling down the zipper. Jane's eyes widened in appreciation, especially when he saw she wore nothing underneath.

He watched as she performed the sexiest striptease he had ever seen, dispensing with jacket and khaki uniform pants, until finally, she stood before him in only a black garter belt, stockings, and stilettos. Her dark hair was still tucked beneath her cap. She smiled at his enraptured expression.

"You missed something in the strip club, when you were out of your mind with pills and booze," she said, moving to sit on his lap, a thigh on either side of his on the bed. Her hands slid up his naked chest, pushing the pajama shirt off his shoulders and down his arms, the buttoned sleeves at his wrists effectively imprisoning his arms behind him.

She began undulating against the hardness of his groin, and every time he tried to kiss her, she moved her head away.

"No touching," she chided. "You called out my name during your last lap dance. I want you to get the right woman this time."

His breath hissed through his teeth as she rubbed herself more forcefully against him, her breasts bobbing tantalizingly out of his reach. Things were progressing to the point that he couldn't take much more before he embarrassed himself in his pants. Abruptly, he stopped playing along with her game, popping the buttons from his shirt and freeing his hand to pull her chest closer and taking one firm nipple between his teeth.

"Say my name," she pleaded.

"Lisbon," he murmured, kissing the warm hollow between her breasts, then: "Teresa."

Jane awoke with a start, breathing heavily, painfully hard from Officer Lisbon's teasing. Then he looked down to see it hadn't all been in his head. Lisbon had slipped beneath the covers, her hot mouth the cause of his very vivid dream.

He relaxed into the pillow of his motel room bed while Lisbon continued her delicious wake-up call. Before she'd taken him past the point of no return, however, she moved back up his body to slowly lower herself upon him. He watched in the lamplight as she took control of the pace, showing him how much she loved being the boss.

Sometimes, Jane thought, a man needed to be put firmly in his place.

**THE END**

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this fluffy little piece. That last bit was dedicated to my Twitter pals, Nerwen Aldarion and Glindaloveshoes. (You can follow me there as Donnamour1969, by the way).

And now I'm off to write the next chapter to the more serious fic of mine and waterbaby134's, "Red Roulette." Hope to see you there soon.

Thanks for reading—I'd love to hear what you think!


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